Bruce Wayne: Father
by adventurelikeindyjones
Summary: Raising a teenage girl is the last thing Bruce Wayne saw himself doing. Being raised by Bruce Wayne is the last thing the teenage girl expected. M to be safe. Nothing too crazy intense.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, everyone! This is a Batman AU story with a girl who is basically the Dick Grayson "Robin" character. Like, a very, very, very AU female Dick Grayson. Enjoy, and thanks for reading! _Disclaimer: I own nothing Batman or D.C._**

**...**

"You heard me. Do I need to repeat it?"

Alfred Pennyworth stared down the hallway at the girl who had just uttered a terrible racial slur, directed towards a petite girl crouched against the wall. Alfred stood up, half intending to go and break up the situation when a third girl swung around the corner and slid to a stop by the bigger girl. An oversized sweatshirt, joggers, and hightops gave off a tomboyish vibe, but despite her casual clothing choice, she was a beautiful girl with dark waves and bright eyes.

"Hey, Lia, I'd love for you to repeat it," she said. She was shorter than the bully, but that didn't stop her from drawing up to her full height and looking her dead in the eye.

The big girl, Lia, replied with a sloppy grin and chuckled, "Ah, you think you can protect this little freak? She's a…" Lia leaned in and whispered something in the girl's ear. She chuckled and stepped backward.

"Ah, Lia," she sighed. "It is too bad you said it twice. Now I'm going to hit you."

"If you hit me, they'll send you to the office," said Lia.

"I'll go there myself," said the girl. "Believe me. It's worth it." And instantly, her fist connected with Lia's jaw, dropping the big girl to the ground. "Holly, run and find your group monitor," urged the protector to the small child. The little girl scrambled to her feet and ran away while Lia groaned on the floor.

The third girl, shaking her hand out, sighed, and started down the hall toward Alfred.

"I'm telling Mrs. Franklin!" shrieked Lia, crawling to her feet.

"I'll already be in the office," said the girl, without even turning around. She came to a stop and dropped onto the opposite end of the bench from Alfred.

Lia stomped by and flung the office door open. Muffled yelling filtered out from the closed door, which eventually swung open as a middle-aged woman stepped out. Lia followed her, stomping off with a toss of her head at Ella, and the woman sighed, massaging her temples. "Ella, do not move a muscle," she said. "Mr. Pennyworth, thank you for waiting. Mrs. Franklin will see you now."

Alfred sighed approvingly and stood, following the woman into the office. He took a right and stepped through a doorway to find himself in a small office with papers piled in many places and a little, fierce-looking woman seated behind a cluttered desk.

"Have a seat, Mr. Pennyworth," she invited, barely looking up from scrawling across a notepad.

"Ah, thank you," nodded Alfred, lowering himself gently onto a rather precarious-looking folding chair.

"Now then," said Mrs. Franklin, looking up, "thank you so much for coming. It seems there was a mistake in last month's funding, and, as I'm sure you can tell, we need all the income we can get to care for the girls."

Alfred smiled, "We are very sorry if there has been a problem, but I have personally gone over all the files myself, and I can't seem to find the mistake in the numbers. Are you sure you didn't receive last month's funding?"

"Quite positive, Mr. Pennyworth," nodded Mrs. Franklin, reaching up to adjust her glasses to the bridge of her nose.

"I see," nodded Alfred, and he did indeed. From the short time he had spent in the home for girls, it was plain to him that most of the Wayne Foundation's money was not used for the bettering of the housing as it was supposed to do. He wondered how much the woman sitting before him had squandered for herself. Perhaps even all of last month's check? "I am so glad I was able to come down and have this meeting. Normally one of the direct employees of the Wayne Foundation would have addressed it, but Mr. Wayne wanted me to handle this since he is otherwise occupied." In truth, Bruce Wayne had suspected the home was misusing the money, and since Mrs. Franklin was a tough woman to meet with, it had somehow worked out at a time he was not available and he had pleaded with Alfred to make the meeting. Alfred had insisted it was not his area to meddle in the Wayne Foundation's affairs, but Bruce had explained the situation and Alfred reluctantly agreed to meet with Mrs. Franklin. He was happy he had and not one of the well-meaning, but simpler minded, accountants working through the foundation.

"I hope Mr. Wayne is well," said Mrs. Franklin, flashing an incredibly fake smile.

"Oh, very well, yes, thank you," nodded Alfred. "Um, one last question, Mrs. Franklin. A sweet young girl was waiting outside to meet with you. There was an altercation in the hall, and she hit another girl…"

"Oh, Ella" interrupted Mrs. Franklin. "She is always getting herself into trouble. I suppose one of the bigger girls was using language Ella didn't approve of, and she decided it was her place to intervene. It is a regular occurrence."

"What will happen to her?" asked Alfred.

"Oh, we'll place her," shrugged Mrs. Franklin, nonchalantly shuffling through some papers on her desk.

"Place her? You mean in a foster home?" asked Alfred.

"Yes," replied Mrs. Franklin, finding the paper she was looking for and studying it intently. "Here are the statistics for last month's funding, Mr. Pennyworth."

"Yes, thank you," nodded Alfred, taking the paper, which he barely glanced over. "Has she been placed before, then?"

"Ella?" asked Mrs. Franklin, "oh, for heaven's sake, yes. Constantly. We can't keep her anywhere. She always makes up some incredible story of the couple beating her or something, and we end up with her back here, causing trouble. She is going to be one of our endless cycles until she is of age. I'm sure of it. We place her in a home as punishment because she seems to hate it so much. Maybe one day we will get through to her that it is not her place to inflict judgment on the other girls."

"But what of the child that was bullying?" asked Alfred.

"Mr. Pennyworth, I cannot monitor every word that is said here," smiled Mrs. Franklin, taking her glasses off and tapping them on the desk. "The girls need to learn to live in the real world."

"But you can punish a child for physically assaulting another?" asked Alfred.

"Of course," scoffed Mrs. Franklin. "We can't have the girls pummeling each other, now can we? Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Pennyworth?"

Alfred lifted an eyebrow and shifted in his uncomfortable chair, "Perhaps there is, Mrs. Franklin."

**...**

"How did you pack so fast?" asked the red-headed girl perched on the edge of Ella's bunk.

"I'm used to packing," shrugged Ella. "I'm moved around just about every three or four months."

"Where is ya going?"

"No idea," said Ella, throwing her backpack over her shoulder. "See you around, Grace. Unless you get into a home before I get back."

Ella left the dormitory and made her way downstairs and out the front door, where a car would be waiting as Mrs. Franklin had said. Mrs. Allen, Ella's group monitor, was waiting on the front steps.

"Alright, Ella," she said. "Please try to be good this time around. This isn't one you want to mess up."

"Yeah, whatever," said Ella, glancing at the car. It looked very nice, but Ella didn't exactly know much about vehicles to be sure. "I'll probably get beat up after the dad spends the night in a bar then get shipped back here because I'm too annoying, just like every other time."

"Ella…just try to be good," sighed Mrs. Allen. "I'm serious. You don't want to mess this one up."

Ella sighed and plodded down the steps to the car. An older man stepped forward and opened the back door for her.

"And there we are, miss," he smiled. "May I take your backpack?"

Ella was somewhat caught off guard by the situation and froze, "I…um. Oh, that's okay. I can handle it." People didn't generally offer to do things for her.

"As you wish, miss," smiled the man.

Ella crawled into the backseat and knew immediately that this was indeed a very nice car. Incredibly nice. Possibly the nicest car in Gotham.

The older man slid into the driver's seat and pulled the car away from Gotham's Home for Girls, to which Ella barely gave a second glance.

"My name is Alfred Pennyworth," said the man. "You may call me Alfred. I am Mr. Bruce Wayne's butler."

"Bruce Wayne!" cried Ella. "The billionaire?" She leaned forward, her arms over the seat.

"Yes," said Alfred. "It is an honor for Mr. Wayne to have you join him at Wayne Manor, and we hope you will be very comfortable there."

"Wayne…Manor," said Ella, her voice becoming rather quiet. "I…I didn't know Bruce Wayne was involved in foster care."

"Master Wayne is very passionate about helping the city's youth," said Alfred. "He will be very pleased to meet you this evening when he returns home from work." Under his breath, Alfred added, "And after I tell him you exist."

Ella's heart was pounding in her chest, and her mind was swirling with questions. Bruce Wayne was to be her foster parent. Was this a charity case for the press? What was Wayne Manor like? What was Bruce Wayne like, for that matter?

"And, my dear, in this car, we sit with our bottoms on the seat," said Alfred, carefully steering the car onto the main road.

Ella flushed and leaned backward, "Oh, yes, sir."

The car ride proved uneventful for the twenty-five minutes it took to get to Wayne Manor, though uneventful in Ella's mind was much different from Alfred's. What the girl did not realize through Alfred's endless questions and patience was that he was finding out little details about her, such as what she liked to eat and what she enjoyed doing. If a foster parent had asked Ella such questions, she would have been shocked indeed since they rarely seemed to take any interest in her. It didn't faze her that Mr. Wayne's butler did, as she assumed he was making small talk, but mainly because she found herself slightly distracted thinking about the billionaire himself. She had seen paparazzi pictures of him once or twice on newspapers, but couldn't remember how he looked. She also couldn't remember if he was considered pleasant or not. She supposed he had to be somewhat decent if he donated so much money to the girls' home, but then again, they never saw the effects of that money. Most of it was used up by the directors for cars and fancy offices.

"And here we are, Miss Ferrera," said Alfred, pulling into a long drive. "Wayne Manor."

It was beyond anything Ella could have possibly imagined it to be. The first thing she saw was the three high towers on the front of the mansion, but she quickly noticed there were three more on the back. She could make out a garden area and what seemed to be a swimming pool to the left at the base of a hill, which could be reached by a magnificent staircase built into the ground. The drive took them directly to the front door and around a beautiful fountain surrounding by well-kept shrubs.

Alfred brought the car to a stop and got out, opening the door for Ella. She thanked him as she crawled out and looked up at the enormous structure before her, completely blown away by its size.

"Welcome home, Miss Ferrera," said Alfred, bowing slightly and holding out his hand towards the front door.

"How do you…how does he…how do you run such a huge place?" asked Ella, wondering how Alfred managed to Windex the massive windows above her.

Alfred chuckled, "A well-trained staff keeps the building in tip-top shape, but they are only here twice a week. The gardeners live in homes at the right of the grounds and cooking isn't exactly hard when it is only for two people."

"Oh," was all that Ella could think of to say. She rubbed her arm and shifted so her backpack wouldn't slip off her shoulder.

"Shall we go in, miss?" asked Alfred.

"Um, yes, sir," nodded Ella, following the man towards the front door.

Alfred glanced back at her, and his eyebrow raised slightly. She was incredibly polite, and he had noticed not even a glimmer of defiance in her throughout the whole trip. Problem child, indeed. This girl was nothing of the sort. She was a child who needed to be loved.

**...**

**I go through various phases of being obsessed with Batman and I guess this is one of them. Thanks for sticking with me through chapter one! Chapter two should be finished soon.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you so much for the feedback on Chapter One! Also, I wanted to admit that I am taking some big creative liberties with the foster care system because...well...it's Gotham. Enjoy this second chapter! I am loving how this story is writing itself for me. ****_Disclaimer: I own nothing Batman or DC_**

**...**

"Here is your bedroom, Miss Ferrara," said Alfred, stepping into the doorway and allowing Ella to enter beside him. She froze inside the door and stared at the room before her.

Enormous.

It was the only word that seemed to fit. Everything in the room was enormous, including the square footage itself. The bed was larger than any Ella had ever slept in, and it was made up like the fancy beds in commercials for hotels. There were two separate dressers, both covered in sculptures and artwork, and enormous mirrors suspended on the walls above them. Two windows stretched from ceiling to floor with heavy drapes pulled aside, giving a stunning view to the east of the manor. A door to the left of the room was closed, while a door to the right opened into what appeared to be a bathroom.

"Will it do?" asked Alfred, amusement flashing through his eyes.

"Will…oh, yes, sir," said the flustered girl, staring around the room in wonder. "It's really beautiful."

"Is this all you own?" asked Alfred, sliding the backpack off of Ella's shoulder.

"Yes, sir," nodded Ella, automatically gripping the strap tightly.

Alfred smiled at her, "Not to worry. I'm just going to set it on this chair here."

Ella blushed and smiled, "Oh, thank you." Protecting her belongings was something fiercely embedded in her after years of raising herself, and it was calming but disconcerting to have someone seem to help in the job.

"Here is your bathroom," said Alfred, crossing the floor and pushing the ajar door open completely.

Ella hurried to his side and peered in, her eyes growing wide. "Oh, man," she whispered. "That's beautiful."

Alfred chuckled, "And your closet is over there. From the looks of it, you could fit all your things in one drawer of this dresser." He had crossed the room and patted the top of the dresser nearest the bed. "We'll fix that after you meet Master Wayne," he nodded.

"What is he like?" Ella blurted out. She surprised herself with the boldness of the question she had been longing to ask but also felt relieved at the courage to voice her anxiety.

Alfred raised an eyebrow and turned to look out one of the massive windows, "Master Wayne? Well, I suppose you will find out for yourself in about five minutes since his car just pulled up." He smiled and started towards the door, "But I wouldn't worry yourself, Miss Ferrara. He is a rare soul of kindness, and I think you will find a lot in common with him."

Ella hurried after Alfred and followed him back through the maze of rooms and corridors that she had already forgotten how to navigate. It seemed odd to her to walk through this castle-like structure and not meet any other people. It reminded her of tours the girls had taken through museums packed with sightseers and staff, but now eerily empty and alone.

She was lost in her thoughts, staring at the biggest painting she had ever seen as they crossed a living room when a voice woke her from her trance.

"Hello, Alfred. Who is this?"

Ella looked up and found herself standing before a tall, dark-haired, very well-dressed man with a friendly smile and surprisingly lonely looking hazel eyes.

"Master Wayne, meet Miss Ella Ferrera," said Alfred. "Miss Ferrera, Mr. Bruce Wayne."

"How do you do, Miss Ferrera?" greeted Bruce, sticking out his hand.

Ella shook it and nodded, "Fine, thank you, Mr. Wayne."

"Miss Ferrera, I will have to beg your pardon for just a few moments while I discuss an urgent matter with Master Wayne," said Alfred, placing a hand on Ella's back and leading her back across the room. "But there is a lovely book here all about Asia, which you told me you were very interested in."

"Oh, yes, sir," nodded Ella, sinking onto the couch behind her and running her fingers over the large coffee table book featuring an Asian temple on the cover. She watched as Alfred hurried Bruce from the room and took a deep breath. She had been scared to death to meet the billionaire, and suddenly he was just another person like Alfred and herself. And his eyes were lonely. That confused her because she had expected a man like Mr. Wayne to be rather pious and popular, though she supposed both of those things were still possible while being lonely.

She glanced back at the book and smiled. Now, this looked exactly like the kind of thing she would never be allowed to touch in a foster home. Her passing comment regarding her love of Asian art had not gone unnoticed by Alfred during their trip to the manor and she had a feeling she was going to like him an awful lot.

**...**

"A foster child?" cried Bruce, staring in confusion at Alfred. "Alfred, how on earth are we supposed to take care of a kid! Have you forgotten about the little operation we run? You expect me to take care of a teenager, run a company, and be the Batman? Have you seen my to-do list lately? It does not include taking in a ward!"

"Shall I take her back to the home, then, Master Wayne?" asked Alfred, his expression never changing.

"Well, I…why on earth did you bring her here in the first place?" asked Bruce, running his fingers through his hair as he turned in circles, exasperated.

"Because they were going to place her heaven knows where and I didn't want to see that sweet, thirteen-year-old girl lost in the system of Gotham," said Alfred. "You know that most of those children end up on the wrong side of the law after they are too old to be cared for by the government. I know you do your part by giving generous donations for their care, but after I saw her…" Alfred stopped and sighed. "A bigger girl was bullying a little girl and Ella broke up the fight. She wasn't the bully, but she was punished for taking a stand. When I saw the sadness in those eyes as she sat on the bench beside me, waiting for shipment off to another foster home, I couldn't just leave her there. She's a human being, and they are treating her as an object that they don't want."

"Alfred," sighed Bruce, "I admire your heart. But you know we can't keep her. If we tried to help every kid in this city, Batman would be impossible, and terror would rule the streets of Gotham. We have to know our limits. It's the entire concept of Batman, Alfred."

Alfred sighed, "Very well. I'll take her back. I just thought you of all people would understand."

Bruce watched as Alfred walked towards the study door and sighed deeply, "Okay, okay. I of all people would understand what?"

Alfred stopped and looked back at his young master, and Bruce winced when he saw tears glistening in the older man's eyes. "That you of all people would understand what it's like to have so many people bustling around you, but to feel so terribly alone," said Alfred. He left, shutting the door hard behind him and Bruce staring after him.

**...**

Alfred took a deep breath as he stood outside of the living room archway. He was afraid he would start blubbering if attempting to speak too quickly, so he reminded himself to talk slowly and distinctly.

Stepping around the corner, Alfred forced a friendly smile and nodded at Ella, "Miss Ferrera, I do apologize for leaving you so quickly."

Ella set down the book that had engrossed her so thoroughly and stood, "That's alright, sir. This book is really cool."

"You can have it if you like."

Alfred turned around and found himself face-to-face with Bruce, who was smiling pleasantly, hands casually in his pockets.

"Really," said Bruce. "You can take it to your room and look at it whenever you like. Are you interested in Asian art?"

Ella grinned, "Yes, sir. I think it's so beautiful. There was an encyclopedia at the home with black and white pictures, and there was one of a statue in the jungle of Indonesia. This book is full of things like that but in color!"

Bruce chuckled and sat down in a chair across from Ella, "So you like Asia. Me too. Sit down and tell me about yourself, Ella; because so far it seems pretty interesting."

Ella blushed and sat down, "Um, not really."

"Well, what other books have you read besides the encyclopedia at the home?" asked Bruce.

"A book about space!" said Ella, her eyes lighting up again. "It showed different constellations and moons and galaxies. All the books are so old, though, that it is mostly black and white drawings and lots of words that are hard to understand."

"Well, not only do I have a fantastic book on constellations," grinned Bruce, "I also have a Meade telescope on one of my rooftop balconies. If you have no other plans tonight, and the sky is clear enough, maybe we can take a look."

"Hey!" grinned Ella. "That would be neat, sir."

Alfred stood still, taking it all in. Heart thudding excitedly in his chest, a tear of joy slipped silently down the butler's cheek as he watched his young master talk to the girl. Words could not express how proud he was of that wild boy he had raised. The boy who had once insisted on flying alone to California when he was fourteen-years-old for a family Christmas, only to get lost in the Gotham airport for seven hours. The boy who had spent an entire summer going to bed at three in the morning and developed terrible headaches, but insisted they were due to the stress of school and not lack of sleep. The boy who had assured Alfred he would never, ever, ever get married and have children because that was absolutely not his forte; he was going to be a professional soccer player.

That boy was now a kind, courageous, heroic, lonely man who had just made an enormous decision and given Alfred more pride than he had felt in years. Ella was home, and Bruce Wayne was her foster father.

And it was exactly what all three of them needed.

**...**

"If you don't get yourself back in that room and behave like a civilized young lady, I will be dealing with you rather harshly, young miss," said Alfred, glaring down menacingly at Ella. She was tall, standing close to five feet and seven inches, but Alfred still had eight inches over her and was able to look down his nose quite effectively.

"But Alfred," whimpered Ella, "I don't want to. I hate it. I hate school. Why do I need to know that stuff?"

"Because Master Wayne and I want you to be a well-educated lady someday, and you'll never get there if you keep escaping from your tutors," replied Alfred. "Now, turn yourself around and march right back in there." Alfred turned the girl around and landed a solid smack to her bottom, propelling her forward into the study.

"I'm glad to see you decided to join me again, Miss Ferrera," came the voice of Ella's math tutor. "Are you ready to continue?"

"Yes, sir," replied Ella, dropping back into her chair by the big oak desk against the far side of the room.

"Mr. Wyatt," said Alfred, entering the room, "please let me know if our young miss here decides to slip out again. I'm sure I can persuade her it is wiser to stay in the tutoring room." He gave Ella a very stern, pointed look.

"Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth," nodded Mr. Wyatt, nodding over the top of the chest-high blackboard he was scribbling away on.

Alfred left, closing the door behind him, and Mr. Wyatt turned the board to face Ella. "Alright, Miss Ferrera," he said, "let's work this problem together."

Ella groaned quietly and picked up her pencil. It was going to be another long morning.

It had now been three months since Ella moved into Wayne Manor, and a lot had changed in that time. Bruce found himself going on patrol far less than he used to, opting to spend time with Ella instead. The two had formed a strong bond and found similar interests in many things. Bruce had an excellent way of acting his part as mentor, guardian, disciplinarian, and counselor, while never wavering from friend and confidant. It had surprised Alfred at first how naturally Bruce took to parenting, but he began to see a lot of Bruce's father in the man and realized he had inherited Thomas Wayne's way with children.

Alfred was everything Bruce was but in a gentler and more grandfatherly way. Ella adored him, and the two spent every day together while Bruce attended meetings and business functions.

Ella found herself trusting the two men rather quickly. After years of being wary of every person she met, it was nice to drop her guard and be at ease in a welcoming environment. Bruce and Alfred were very respectful of her space and feelings, and in turn, Ella strived to be obedient and pleasant towards them. She often felt a sense of sadness when Bruce would leave in the mornings that was always replaced with a burst of joy when she heard his voice call her name in the evenings. They spent many nights on the roof of the manor, studying the stars. Some nights, Alfred would read to her from an old English adventure book he had while Bruce attended to business matters. These were his patrols as Batman that they had successfully kept secret from the young ward thus far.

School was not a favorite subject for any of the three. Ella had experienced poor schooling from jumping foster homes so often, and tutors placed her at a sixth-grade level. Bruce and Alfred had discussed the matter privately and decided homeschooling her was the best option until she reached a more stable level of education. Ella, unfortunately, hated school with a passion. She found her tutors boring and longwinded and often slipped from the room while her math teacher, Mr. Wyatt, was creating an incredibly long problem on his blackboard. It was apparent to both Bruce and Alfred that Ella was extraordinarily bright and clever, as she portrayed to them both during their occasional educational moments. Whether it was astronomy, art, science, or history, Ella picked up facts and concepts quickly and remembered them easily. Alfred felt the problem lay in the teaching style, but when suggested, Bruce had brushed it off, and Alfred had not addressed it again.

Ella forced herself through the rest of the class and was enormously relieved when Mr. Wyatt dismissed her for the day. She went straight to the kitchen and found Alfred preparing stew for supper.

"Hi, Alfred," she grinned, climbing onto the counter and sitting down.

"Remove yourself from my counter and wash your hands," instructed Alfred, setting a handful of carrots beside the girl. "You may peel these."

"Yes, sir," said Ella, sliding down and hurrying to the sink.

"I suppose you have delayed your homework," said Alfred, glancing at her from the corner of his eye as he placed a pot on the stove.

"Well, can't Bruce help me with that later?" asked Ella.

"Not tonight," replied Alfred, handing her a peeler. "Bruce has business this evening."

"Aw," sighed Ella, her face filling with disappointment. "I hate it when he has business. Will he be home before he has to do whatever it is?"

"Yes, he'll be home for supper," said Alfred. "If we have any supper to feed him, that is. More peeling and less whimpering, hm?" Alfred gave her ribs a poke and chuckled when he earned a giggle.

"Hey, Alfred," said Ella, "what sort of business does he do when he's out at night, anyway? Sometimes he doesn't get back until four in the morning."

"And how do you know that?" asked Alfred, setting potatoes in the sink to wash.

Ella blushed and dropped a freshly peeled carrot onto the chopping block, "Well, sometimes I hear him going to bed then."

Alfred gave her a pointed look, "Rather odd. If I remember correctly, your room is two halls and a staircase away from his. How do you manage to hear him from that distance?"

"The walls are thin," said Ella.

"Ah," nodded Alfred, "and I suppose it doesn't hurt that you are sneaking in and out of Bruce's study at all hours of the night to look at the books he has in there."

"You know!" cried Ella, looking up quickly, her face pale.

Alfred looked at her and raised his eyebrows, "It's my job to know."

"Sometimes I can't sleep," shrugged Ella.

"Sometimes, you don't try very hard," replied Alfred.

"Do you know how to make anything other than stew and pasta?" asked Ella.

A wave of relief flooded over Alfred with the change in subject, as he hadn't quite decided how to explain what Bruce's late-night business involved. He plastered on a fake look of annoyance and grunted, "And what is wrong with stew and pasta?"

"Oh, nothing," shrugged Ella, beginning to chop the carrots into bite-sized pieces. "But Bruce never even eats the pasta because he says it sits in his stomach, and I think the stew tastes watery."

"Watery!" cried Alfred, letting a potato he was scrubbing drop into the sink. "I'll show you watery, little miss." And with that, Alfred sprayed the girl with the removable sink head he had been using.

It was a wet, messy scene Bruce Wayne walked into when he stepped through the kitchen doorway. Ella was soaked from head to toe and giggling while Alfred shuffled across the floor covered with puddles.

"Oh, good evening, Master Wayne," he greeted. "I was just about to take Miss Ella upstairs and dry her off, and then we will be ordering take out for supper." He leaned in close to Bruce and mumbled, "A conversation change was necessary to distract from potential questions. Order Chinese." Turning to Ella, Alfred held out an arm and smiled, "Come on, love. Let's get you in some dry clothes."

"Hiya, Bruce!" greeted Ella, throwing herself into the man's arms.

"Oh, hey!" laughed Bruce, putting his arms around the soaked girl and wincing inwardly as the water soaked into his suit. "Thanks for sharing your bath with me."

"Oh, sorry," blushed Ella, stepping back quickly. "Now you look really sweaty."

"That's a wonderful compliment, thank you," chuckled Bruce. "Go on with Alfred, squirt."

Ella brushed past her guardian to leave the kitchen, and Alfred leaned in again, "Better think of a reason for late-night business."

"Ah, got it," nodded Bruce. "I will do that as I order Thai."

"Chinese!" called Alfred over his shoulder as he followed after Ella.

Bruce chuckled and pulled out his cell phone. A quick Google search brought up the nearby Thai place he liked, but his mind was far from food as he placed the delivery order. Making up a reason for late-night business was one thing, but hiding the masked vigilante from a child he was finding himself grow close to was becoming increasingly harder. He often found himself nearly mentioning the Bat-Cave, or almost suggesting they take a ride in the Tumbler to test a new feature. Bruce knew he had a decision to make if Ella was going to stay on as his ward, and that decision rested entirely on how much he trusted a thirteen-year-old girl with his deepest and darkest secret.

**...**

**We all know Bruce Wayne can't resist a ward. Was the Batman universe explicitly created for fanfiction writers to enjoy cute plots featuring parent-Bruce and various children? Because it really seems that way. Bless you, Batman creators Bob Kane and Bill Finger. I hope you enjoyed this second chapter! I promise a plot will start to slowly expose itself soon. Review if you would like, and thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you for the super amazing reviews! I'm sure some of you know exactly how something as simple as a few words of constructive criticism or praise can spur on a writer. Hope you enjoy this next chapter!**

**...**

It was the little things that first started Ella's brain turning. Bruce would wince uncomfortably at breakfast and complain about a sore back, or he would do one hundred pushups in the middle of a chess game to "keep his blood flowing." Truthfully, she never suspected a thing until the day she began reading The Outsider by Stephen King. Bruce had found her deep in the first chapter before he left for a business meeting that morning, and promptly snatched the book out of her hands.

"I think not," he had said, carrying it back to the bookshelf covering the entire west wall of his private study. "You can read that book when you stop complaining to me about how scary Jaws was."

"Okay, first of all," Ella had replied, pushing herself up from Bruce's easy-chair, "Jaws was absolutely terrifying. And second of all, it was visual. This is just a book. I think I'll be fine."

"Refusing to put your foot on the floor beside your bed because there might be a shark underneath it is not the kind of behavior I expect from a child capable of handling horror novels," Bruce had smirked, giving her a quick hug. "Okay, I'll see you later tonight. Be good and obey Alfred."

Approximately twenty seconds after Bruce's Lamborghini roared off, Ella was buried in the pages of the King novel again, pacing the floors of the study as the plot began to unfold. Around page 34, she found herself leaving the room to walk up and down the hall with the book. Energy was something Ella never lacked, and she often walked through the entire manor while engrossed in a book. This particular time, she found herself downstairs and circling the music room when she subconsciously leaned against a section of glass paneling and felt the wall give.

"What on earth?" she mumbled. She pushed with her back a little harder and decided the panel was definitely loose. Setting the book on the antique piano in front of her, she leaned her weight against some of the other panels and found them to be quite stable. "It's just this one," she said aloud. "Definitely funny." The fact that the manor was generations old slipped into her mind and she raised an eyebrow. "Maybe not so funny." Leaning her entire weight against the panel, Ella took a deep breath and pushed. It felt just as loose as before but didn't move in any way.

Stepping back, Ella put her hands on her hips and assessed the situation. "There are several possibilities," she announced to no one in particular. "First, this is a poorly installed glass panel that, when removed, will reveal a wall covered in the same weird yellow paint as the rest of this room." Ella leaned back against the piano, arms crossed and sighed, "That is the boring and therefore discarded option. The second option is that it opens when you apply heavy force. Either I am weaker than I originally thought or that is not the case. The final option, and the one that we are one hundred percent going to go with, is that there is a latch somewhere. So the rest of my day is officially planned out and I hope Alfred doesn't come looking for me."

And that was the beginning of a forty-minute search for anything that would open the secret door. The adventure was put on hold when Alfred's voice echoed through the halls for her to come and make her bed. Clamoring to her feet after crawling out from under a desk, Ella sighed and hurried off to obey the order. "Why does Alfred even say he's the butler if he doesn't actually do anything butler related?" she mumbled, the book and the potential secret door lost from her mind for the time being.

...

After lunch, Alfred and Ella spent the afternoon caring for Alfred's herb garden in the back yard. The November air was far too chilly for the plants to still be producing, but Alfred wanted to clear up some dead leaves and branches before the snow came for the season. Ella managed to earn a sizable cut on her left knee after scrambling over the inground stone wall holding the garden above the rest of the lawn. The two were in Ella's room arguing over whether or not she needed hydrogen peroxide when Bruce came in, suit coat flung over his shoulder.

"Well, what do we have here?" he asked, crossing the room to assess the situation. Ella was seated on a chair while Alfred was on one knee, trying to keep her leg still so he could spray it with antiseptic. "How did you manage that scrape?" he asked, leaning in close.

"Laziness," replied Alfred, pushing Ella's hand aside as she attempted to cover the scratch.

"The stairs were super far away, and I figured it would be quicker to climb over the wall," whined Ella. "I don't need that stuff. There is nothing to get infected, Alfred."

"Whatever you say, miss," said Alfred, but he quickly sprayed the cut, and Ella let out a yell.

"Hey! No! Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow. It stings, Alfred!" she whimpered, closing her eyes and gritting her teeth.

Alfred rolled his eyes as he cleaned the scrape and placed a bandage over it. "There," he said. "It took me ten seconds to accomplish what you spent ten minutes pleading me not to do. Master Wayne, how was your day."

"Fine, Alfred," chuckled Bruce, helping Alfred stand. "And what did you two get up to on Ella's day off?"

"Gardening," said Ella, rubbing the bandage and wincing.

"Well, if it hurts, stop touching it," scolded Alfred, gathering his medical supplies to return to the bathroom cabinet.

"Hey, Bruce," said Ella, looking up and grinning, "how about chess? I have a new strategy."

"I'm down," said Bruce. "But you better have a killer of a strategy because I am going to leave you in the dust just like every other time."

"Oh, sure," scoffed Ella, standing and running to the door of her room. "You must have dreamt those times up."

Bruce followed her, and Alfred stuck his head out of the bathroom, "No need to thank me! It was no problem cleaning you up!" He shook his head, shutting the medicine cabinet, "The attentions spans of puppies. This is why Bruce never finishes the bloody elevator into the Batcave. He gets distracted by a stalagmite and decides to make it into a pullup bar."

...

A rather short game of chess, which Bruce dominated victoriously over, and a simple dinner of soup took up the first part of the evening, and then the three of them retired to Bruce's study. Alfred and Bruce discussed some financial aspects of Wayne Enterprises, and Ella looked over National Geographic's Backyard Guide to the Night Sky for the fourth time that week. It was a quiet evening and at precisely ten o'clock, Bruce stood up and closed the folder he was looking over.

"Okay, missy, time for bed," he said. "You have tutoring early tomorrow."

"Five more minutes," came Ella's voice from behind the book. She was sitting in Bruce's easy-chair, feet up on the headrest and head hanging over the edge, elbows propped up on the seat.

"Nope, let's go," said Bruce, pushing his chair into the desk and crossing the room to his ward. He pulled the book from her hands and set it on the side table while Ella flipped right side up.

"What if we cancel my writing tutor for tomorrow, and I work on the telescope," said Ella, wrapping her arms around Bruce's chest while they left the study and started for her bedroom. The new telescope sitting on the balcony above the top floor guest rooms had been floating through Ella's mind ever since Bruce brought it home the day before but he had forbidden her from putting it together without his help.

"A $3,000 telescope is not something I intend on letting you build by yourself," said Bruce. "And canceling tutoring will only happen if you magically catch malaria in the night."

"Hey, Alexa, how do you fake malaria?" said Ella.

"Oh, you're hilarious," said Bruce, pushing her bedroom door open and pulling her in. "Hey, Alexa, how do you make a teenager go to bed the minute she's told without stalling."

Ella released her grip on him and picked up the Asian art book Bruce had given her the first day she had arrived, "I'm not even stalling."

"Books are done for tonight," said Bruce, pulling it from her hands. "Pajamas on; brush your teeth; bed. I'll see you in the morning, missy."

"Love you, Bruce!" said Ella, throwing her arms back around him and squeezing him tightly.

"Love you, too, kid," chuckled Bruce, patting her back. "Night, Ella."

Bruce left, pulling the door shut behind him and sighed. Patrol tonight. Time to get into the suit. He was already down the side staircase when Ella's bedroom door silently opened, and the girl stepped out into the dim hallway.

The mansion may have been old, but it was solid and didn't make noises and creaks like most aged structures. Ella had no problem slipping downstairs and following Bruce towards the music room. It was just as she had suspected. She stopped at the door and looked in to see him hit some notes on the piano and, to her delight, step through the now wide-open glass paneling. It was a secret door. She stepped into the room but stopped short when Bruce reemerged from the wall. He froze when they made eye contact and a look of anxiety crossed his face.

"What are you doing?" he asked. "You're supposed to be in bed."

"Where does that go?" asked Ella, pointing to the opening and ignoring his question.

"To the dungeon where I keep annoying kids," said Bruce, his face still pale despite his attempt at humor. "But while I've got you here, would you like to explain this book to me?" He picked up the Stephen King book Ella had forgotten on the piano that morning. "Funny how I left it in my study earlier, and now it's in here."

"I…" Ella stopped and looked behind Bruce at the opening. "That doesn't really go to a dungeon. Does it? Is there a dungeon under this house? Can I see it?"

"No, you can't see the dungeon," replied Bruce. "The prisoners might convince you to let them out. Were you reading this book again? I told you not to read this book."

"I only read like the first five chapters," said Ella, never taking her eyes off the opening. "It wasn't that bad. Does Alfred know about the secret dungeon?"

"Alfred minds his own business and obeys me when I tell him not to read certain books," smirked Bruce, walking over to the panel and sliding it shut.

Ella wrinkled her nose, "And what books do you forbid Alfred from reading?"

"A Christmas Carol," replied Bruce. "I don't want him getting any ideas about housekeeping from Scrooge."

"He kind of looks like the Scrooge from The Muppet Christmas Carol," said Ella, her eyes widening at the sudden revelation. "Oh man, he looks a lot like him!"

"I don't see it," said Bruce, tucking the book under his arm and placing a hand on Ella's shoulder. "Come on, kiddo, back to bed."

"Hey!" said Ella. "You're trying to avoid the subject. What's in the dungeon that you don't want me knowing about?"

"It's not really a dungeon," said Bruce. "And you don't need to know. You need to trust me on this, okay? Right now, I want you to go to bed and get a good night's sleep. Got it?"

"Are you Batman?"

Looking back, Bruce could have sworn that the air in the room completely vanished when Ella asked that question. It was the only way he could explain his sudden lack of ability to breathe, and it took him a couple of seconds to formulate words for a response.

"What? No."

Ella narrowed her eyes and stepped back, arms crossed over her chest.

Neither of them moved for a very uncomfortable ten seconds, and then Bruce sighed deeply, "I'm not Batman. Why would you think that?"

"Because I was down there this morning and found the Batsuit," shrugged Ella.

"What!" cried Bruce, his demeanor changing instantly from awkwardness to energetically anxious. "How did you get down there? The password is impossible to guess! You don't even know how to play the piano! Did Alfred go down? Did you follow him?"

"I knew it!" cried Ella, clapping her hands together. "You are Batman!"

Bruce stopped and looked at her, "Wait, what? Didn't you just say you found the suit."

"I mean, I was just trying to see if you would admit to it if I said that," said Ella.

Twenty minutes later, Alfred, Bruce, and Ella were back in Bruce's study with Ella in the desk chair, and Alfred and Bruce both standing before her, arms crossed. She thought they looked kind of like FBI agents starting to interrogate her.

"Do you understand why you cannot tell anyone about this?" asked Bruce.

"Yeah, I totally get it, Bruce," nodded Ella. "And let's be honest, who on earth would I tell? My tons of close friends that I don't have?"

Alfred crouched down and set his hand gently on Ella's shoulder, "Can we trust you, sweetheart?"

Ella sighed and looked directly into Alfred's eyes. They held questions but also a glimmer of something Ella couldn't quite put her finger on. She nodded, "Yes, sir. I won't tell anyone."

"Master Wayne, Ella has never given us any reason to doubt her, and I, for one, trust her completely with our little secret," said Alfred, standing to full height and addressing Bruce face-to-face.

Bruce gave Ella a sideways glance and smirked, "Unless you count reading a book I told her not to read and tricking me into telling her about Batman."

"That all took place within the last day and is therefore redacted from anything Alfred is recalling about my past behavior," said Ella, jumping to her feet and giving Bruce her best innocent look.

"First of all, why would it not be counted in your past behavior," said Bruce, putting his hands on his hips, "and secondly, when did you start talking like that?"

"Like what?" asked Ella.

"Words like 'redacted' and 'recall,'" said Bruce. "It's weird. You used to use words like 'yeet' and 'vibe.' But that doesn't matter. What matters now is that I can trust you."

Ella's demeanor visibly changed, and she seemed to shrink a little under Bruce's gaze. "You can trust me, Bruce," she said. "I promise."

Bruce looked at her intently for a few seconds, then smiled. "I believe you, Ella. You're a good kid, and I couldn't have asked for a better ward," he said, pulling her close to him. "But here's the deal. I've got to go out on patrol now, and I need you to go to bed and sleep. That's how it's going to be. You've got to keep on being Ella Ferrera and live life like you did before. I know it's got to be weird having all this new information, but we can't act strange or funny and have people start asking questions. Okay?"

"I got ya," nodded Ella. "You go out on patrol, and I'll go lie in bed for six hours in a state of nervous excitement."

"Great," grinned Bruce, patting her shoulder. "You have fun with that. Alfred, can you get her into bed and then join me in the cave?"

"Absolutely, Master Wayne," nodded Alfred, placing his hands on Ella's shoulders and guiding her towards the door. "I'll be with you directly, sir."

An hour later, as Ella drifted off to sleep due to the NyQuil Alfred had crushed up in her water, her last thoughts were filled with masked villains, elaborate crimes, and Bruce perched on the edge of a building somewhere in Gotham, looking down on the streets below.

**...**

**I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!. You are all amazing and I appreciate the great support!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Your reviews are nothing short of wonderful. Thank you so much for all the support! Even those of you that don't review but still stop by to read, it means the world to me that you take the time to read my work. I hope you all have a fantastic New Year!**

**...**

Ella woke up around five in the morning with the distinct feeling that something was wrong. The NyQuil hadn't been slept off yet, so she was still a bit drowsy, but she climbed out of bed and pulled on her Converse. Stumbling across the dim room, she pulled her door open and slipped into the hallway. Everything was quiet and still.

"That's what's wrong," she whispered. "Bruce hasn't come home."

She wasn't sure how she knew it, but a quick check inside Bruce's bedroom confirmed his bed was still made and unoccupied. Ella hurried downstairs and straight to the music room, sliding to a stop by the beautiful old piano.

"Oh, shoot," she whispered. "I have no idea what to play." She pressed a few keys, and nothing happened, so she decided to approach the problem scientifically. "Alright, so is it the specific melody that is opening the door?" She leaned in close to the keys and looked hard at them. "Bingo," she whispered. Several of the keys near the top of the piano were shinier and a different texture from the rest.

Ella tried every pattern she could think of, but still, the panel remained shut. The piano was not working and she needed another way. It occurred to her that she had not checked to see if Alfred was still in bed, so it was back towards the east wing, and down the servants' quarters hallway, she ran. Ella was almost to the butler's bedroom when a loud yelp echoed through the halls, originating somewhere behind her. Ella froze and spun around, facing the way she had just come from.

"Bruce," she whispered.

…

"You will hold still this instant, young man, or so help me, I will tie you to this chair!" Alfred angrily set his needle and thread down on the table and turned Bruce to a better spot under the light.

"Hurts," mumbled Bruce, his head resting in his hands and shoulders heaving heavily.

"It doesn't bloody surprise me," snapped Alfred.

"Why are you acting so upset?" asked Bruce. "It's not like I did this on purpose. And besides, you've stitched me up dozens of times."

"I'm bloody upset because you didn't bloody kill him when you had the chance," responded Alfred, picking his needle back up and placing a steadying hand on Bruce's left shoulder. "Hold still."

Bruce let out another yell when the needle pierced his skin but managed to hold still while Alfred stitched closed the large gash on his right shoulder.

"More tender than usual?" asked Alfred. "You normally don't yell so much."

"Ah, Alfred," whispered Bruce, a sob catching in his throat.

The elderly man finished his work and sighed, "Why so much worse, this time?"

Bruce, head still in his hands, sighed deeply, "I don't know. I had so little control. I couldn't focus. He mopped the floor with me, Alfred. A single man with a knife and I couldn't win."

"Bruce!"

Alfred looked up and found himself looking at the silhouette of a girl in the dining room doorway.

"You should still be in bed, miss," said Alfred, gently dabbing at Bruce's cuts with a wet cloth.

"What happened?" cried Ella, hurrying across the room.

"Do you always wear the same clothes two days in a row?" asked Bruce, his head rising just slightly to take note of Ella's black joggers and a blue t-shirt.

"I didn't put on pajamas last night," replied Ella, stopping beside Alfred. "Holy Toledo, Bruce. That looks terrible." She felt her stomach turn slightly at the sight of the bloody cut stitched together on the man's shoulder. "How did it happen? Why were you out so late? Did you have a battle?"

"A battle?" asked Bruce, wincing as Alfred cleaned his back. "I've never heard it put that way. I guess you could say that."

"With who?" asked Ella, swinging around in front of Bruce and dropped to her knees. She put her hands on his knees and tried to see his face underneath his hands.

"Someone stronger," mumbled Bruce. "Go back to bed, please."

"Ain't tired," said Ella.

"From talking like a college professor to 'ain't tired,'" said Alfred, his voice sharp. "Now you obey Master Bruce and go back to bed. No one said you had to sleep."

"So I just have to sit in my bed awake and thinking about what terrible things have happened?" whined Ella, standing up and putting her hands on her hips. She glared at Bruce, upset that he was refusing to tell her what happened, but mostly scared because she couldn't do anything to help it.

"Yes," replied Alfred. "I promise I will be up soon. But please do as you're told for right now."

Ella took a step back and suddenly felt somewhat overwhelmed. She had never seen Bruce look so defeated. His elbows were resting on his knees while his hands cradled his dark head, hair tussled and wet from sweat. His torso was bare, and she could see bruises covering every inch of his sides. A long scratch ran from his neck down to his chest, and blood had run down and dried beneath it. The athletic shorts that he wore under his suit were ripped, and it occurred to Ella that must mean his suit had taken a battering. The idea occurred to her that easily could have lost Bruce tonight, and be alone again. Yes, there was Alfred, but legally she was Bruce's ward. Would the state even let Alfred continue to care for her if something happened to Bruce? The thought almost took her breath away and she staggered backward, using the chair beside her for support.

Bruce never looked up, and Alfred was so engrossed in caring for his young master that neither man noticed as Ella quietly slipped from the room and ran upstairs as fast as she could. She hurried into her room and locked the door before going directly to her bed and burying her face in the blankets. Sobs overtook her, and Ella cried harder than she had in a very long time. In fact, she couldn't even remember a single time tears had found her since her parents passed away.

Her parents.

She would probably never have parents again, and now the man that had come closest to filling that title was risking his life regularly. It wasn't exactly what the state would call a stable environment.

All the old heartache came rushing back, and it wasn't until thirty minutes later when a soft knock sounded at the door that Ella raised herself from the bed. She slowly crossed the room and unlocked the knob before rushing straight back and burying herself in the blankets again.

The door softly opened, and Ella sensed someone settle onto the bed beside her. A gentle hand rested on her shoulder and a deep sigh filled the room. "Now what are these tears, love?" came Alfred's soft voice. "Master Wayne will be fine. Just a little scare tonight is all. Nothing to cry over, my dear. He's sound asleep in his room now and will be back to normal after a good rest."

"Why does everyone die?" cried Ella, her voice muffled by her heavy blankets.

Alfred didn't respond for a moment, slightly caught off guard by a question other than "who did this to Bruce" or "is Bruce going to be okay." He shifted slightly and began to rub the girl's back, "Well, dear, everyone dies. It's a part of life. You can't have one without the other. Master Wayne dons the suit so that more people have a chance at surviving, and he does a wonderful job of protecting Gotham's citizens. Sometimes he meets people who are just a little stronger than he is, and it takes a few tries to get the better of them. But don't you worry, because he always prevails. That's why everyone looks up to the Batman."

"Not Bruce," said Ella, still face down.

Alfred raised an eyebrow, "Are we talking about your parents?"

Ella nodded.

Alfred sighed again. He had been sighing a lot this morning. "Are you finally going to tell me what happened to them?" he asked. It was a sore subject. Ella had refused to give much information on her parents, and Bruce and Alfred didn't push for any. Personal research had told them that Mario and Capria Ferrera were killed in a trapeze accident while performing for the Gotham City Circus seven years ago. Ella had been only six-years-old at the time, and the circus immediately turned her over to the foster care system. Ever since, the girl had been passed around, often ending up in terrible homes that the caseworkers had done nothing to review before accepting it into the foster care program. Through Bruce's influence, the system had been solidified firmly over the past two years, but it didn't take away from the horrible things Ella had gone through. Bruce had tracked down every last home she had been in, and it felt like a knife through his heart as he found crime reports and jail records on almost every foster parent.

Bruce and Alfred never told Ella that they knew about her past, but they hoped that one day she would feel comfortable enough to share it with them herself. Alfred was reasonably sure that was about to happen.

"Alfred, I miss them," whispered Ella. She slowly sat up and turned to face the kind butler.

Alfred smiled and brushed the girl's messy curls from her face, letting his hand rest on her cheek. "I'm sure you do, my dear," he nodded. "Perhaps talking about it will help."

Ella bit her lip and felt her chest clench. She hated this story. Even thinking about it made every inch of her fill with grief, and the last thing she wanted to do was share it with Alfred, but he was right. It would feel wonderful to finally get it off her chest after seven years, and if anyone deserved to know the truth, it was Bruce and Alfred.

"Okay," she whispered. "But can I tell you at the same time?"

"You mean Bruce and me together?" asked Alfred. "Of course, love." He pulled the girl into his arms and held her close as her breathing regulated and her heartrate slowly went back to normal. "But for now, I think we all need a little rest."

**...**

**This chapter was a bit shorter than usual, but I didn't want to get into backstory quite yet. The next chapter will be a lot of that. Thanks for reading! You are all amazing!**


	5. Chapter 5

**This is where we get the slightly AU Dick Grayson part. Ella's past is similar to Dick's, but I think that's the only connection there will be between the two characters other than being Bruce's ward. Thanks for the reviews! You all spur me on to keep writing and it means the world!**

**...**

At approximately 11 o'clock in the morning, Ella stumbled into the dining room and stretched her arms. She narrowed her eyes, fighting a threatening headache, probably due to oversleeping. The chair Bruce had sat in early that morning was still pulled out and Ella walked over, running her fingers along the back of it. A tightness pulled at her stomach and she wondered if it was due to hunger or the memory of Bruce ordering her back to bed. Had it been wrong in coming down to make sure he was alright? Bruce's alter-ego had only been known to her for a single day and she already hated that it existed.

Ella walked across the room and into the hall leading to the kitchen. This section was the informal wing of the house where she and Bruce ate their meals. Many hours of helping Alfred had taken place in this kitchen for Ella, and it was much more familiar to her than the kitchen in the west wing used for catering and dinner parties.

Expecting to find the kitchen empty, Ella was surprised to see Alfred bustling around the stove with pots and pans in hand.

"Morning," she said, stopping by the island.

Alfred turned and gave her a loving smile, "Good morning, Miss. I suppose you must be starving after skipping breakfast. We'll have a lovely brunch before you know it."

"Can I help?" asked Ella.

"If you feel like making toast," replied Alfred, stirring the oatmeal he had cooking on the stove.

Ella grinned and opened the breadbox. Alfred had taught her a lot about cooking, and toast was the one thing she managed to make without creating smoke or a mess. Neither said much of anything else as they prepared the meal, and before long, they had a tray, with oatmeal, toast, yogurt, and an energy smoothie, ready to take up to Bruce.

"Are you coming up?" asked Alfred.

Leaning against the counter and drumming her foot against the tiled floor, Ella shrugged, then shook her head, "I…I guess not. Eventually."

Alfred smiled and scooped up the tray, "As you wish, dear. Make sure you drink that entire glass down, young lady!" He hurried off with Bruce's breakfast, leaving Ella to stare at the green smoothie Alfred had set before her. Bruce insisted she drink one of those disgusting concoctions every day, and it was definitely the worst part of her mornings.

"I could pour it down the sink, and no one would ever know," mumbled Ella as she lifted the glass to her lips. She drank it down as quickly as possible, gagging only once or twice, then rinsed the glass out and settled onto a stool at the island to eat her oatmeal.

Ella only managed to finish half the bowl before shoving it across the counter and settling her head into her arms. Anxiety was twisting her stomach, and the prospect of telling Alfred and Bruce the truth about her past was weighing heavier than her appetite. Her headache was considerably worse now, and she wished she had asked Alfred for some pain killer.

"I should go now," she whispered. "Just do it."

Before her fear could get the better of her willpower, Ella stood and hurried from the kitchen. She stopped only long enough to push the chair back into the dining room table, then ran straight upstairs and down the hall towards Bruce's room. It was a long hallway. Longer than she remembered. She stopped halfway down it and turned, looking out over the first floor of the manor below her. A nearby column caught her weight as she leaned forward, nerves twisting her insides. What would they think of her? Anyone with a past like hers would surely be seen with distaste. Would Bruce send her back when he knew the truth?

"Ella?"

Alfred's voice cut through Ella's subconscious battle, and she turned to face him, hoping she was hiding the traces of anxiety from her expression.

"Bruce would like to see you," smiled Alfred, nodding his head towards the room. He held out an arm, and Ella felt a flood of warmth rush over her. Good ole Alfred. He could make anyone feel better.

"Okay," she whispered, walking the rest of the way down the hall and throwing her arms around the butler.

The embrace caught Alfred off guard, but he chuckled and returned it, leaning forward to kiss the top of Ella's head, "And did you drink the entirety of your smoothie?"

"Mmhmm," nodded Ella, tightening her grip around his chest.

"Good girl," said Alfred. "Now, in you go!" He gave her backside a firm pat, directing her into Bruce's room and followed her in, shutting the door behind them.

"Well, good morning, missy," grinned Bruce, turning from the window he had been gazing out of. "How do you feel this…you are still wearing the same clothes from yesterday." It was a statement, but it sounded like a question. Ella shrugged. Bruce chuckled and shook his head, "I suppose it is one of those days. Okay, come here, kid."

Bruce pulled her close into his strong arms and sighed, "Hey. I have an apology to make."

"An apology?" asked Ella, wrapping her own arms around Bruce's chest. It felt good to be in his arms, and some of her fear began to slip away.

"Yes, an apology," said Bruce, glancing up at Alfred. "I shouldn't have sent you back to bed this morning without telling you what had happened. I was kind of short with you, and I'm sorry."

"It's okay," said Ella, feeling slightly overwhelmed by Bruce's apology. Not many people had ever apologized to her before. "You weren't that mean."

"'That' mean," chuckled Bruce. "But I was a 'little' mean, I suppose. Well, I am sorry. Do you forgive me?"

"Yeah," smiled Ella, gently nuzzling closer. She was remembering all the ugly bruises covering Bruce's skin and didn't want to put unnecessary pressure on them.

"Okay, good," said Bruce. "Now then, I promise to always be open with you as much as I can when it comes to Batman. Some things I may have to keep to myself, though. Does that make sense?"

"Course it does," said Ella. "I keep a lot of things to myself, too. But I want to tell you some of them."

Another glance at Alfred, then Bruce gently pushed Ella away and held her by the shoulders. "Yeah, he smiled, "Alfred told me you were going to tell us about your parents."

"I guess," nodded Ella, lowering her eyes to the carpet.

"Alright," said Bruce, grabbing a nearby chair and moving it to the front of his dresser. He picked up the chair beside his bed and placed it next to the first, then nodded to Alfred. Both men sat down, side-by-side, and Ella looked at them questioningly. "We're ready when you are," said Bruce.

Ella took a deep breath. This was not going to be fun.

"Alright, so I guess you probably already know how they died," began Ella. "I mean, you are Batman."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" asked Bruce, crossing her arms.

"You snoop a lot," shrugged Ella.

"How do you know?"

"I read the newspaper."

"Fair enough."

"Anyway," said Ella, "do you know?"

Bruce blushed slightly but nodded, "Yes, we know. They were killed in a trapeze accident."

"And that's all you know?" asked Ella.

"I traced your foster homes," confessed Bruce, the red in his cheeks deepening. "But that's all. No details." He left out the parts about her criminally associated foster parents because he wasn't sure if she even knew that.

"Okay, well, there is more," sighed Ella, choosing a line on the carpet and starting to pace it back and forth. "A lot more. Stuff no one else knows. I was born in San Diego, and we moved to Gotham when I was four. My parents were acrobats and they got hired to do the high-wire act for the Gotham City Circus. The pay was a lot better than what they made in California, so they took the job. I don't remember an awful lot about the circus, but I know I had fun there. Sometimes I would perform with my parents, but only on the ground. I had a costume and everything. They taught me how to do some flips and everyone thought I was cute. Anyhow, everything went really well until I was about five. That's when my dad and my brother started fighting."

"You have a brother?" interrupted Bruce.

Ella glanced at him quickly, then trained her eyes back on the yellow line she was pacing, "Uh, yeah. An older brother. His name is Vince. He's fifteen years older than me. He was born when my parents were only sixteen, and once he was a teen, they decided they wanted another kid. Anyway, Vince and my dad started fighting when I was five. Vince wanted to do a lot of dangerous tricks, and Dad wouldn't let him. Since Dad was the contracted choreographer, Vince couldn't add his own stunts, or he would risk getting fired. At least, I think that's what the problem was. I was kind of little, and I don't really remember all the details. Long story short, Vince ended up doing some tricks he wasn't supposed to, and Dad had the circus owner fire him. He said it was for Vince's own safety and if he decided to go off and join another group, it would be on his own head if he got hurt."

"So, a few months pass and things start to get back to normal. We heard that Vince had joined a group of acrobats that performed on stage. He got involved with some bad people in the theater and was arrested a few times. My dad would always break down and post his bail, but one time…the last time…Dad refused. He said Vince would have to get himself out and maybe that would teach him to make better decisions. A few nights later, the accident happened. Everyone thought that the circus sent me right to the government home, but that didn't happen for another two weeks. First, they found Vince and told him he needed to take care of me. He actually agreed and took me to his apartment in downtown Gotham. I was only there for one night and it was just so he could scare me. He told me terrible, horrible things. Things about my parents. Things about himself."

Ella stopped talking and pacing and glanced at Bruce. "Do you know anything about him?" she asked timidly.

"I…" Bruce fumbled, having been caught up in Ella's story and his own thoughts. It confused him that nothing had come up on Vince Ferrera during his research into Ella's background. "Well, no. When I searched for your parents, nothing came up on your brother."

"Because he's erased everything," sighed Ella. "That's what he does. He leaves no trace. He's good at what he does, and he takes care of people who get in his way."

"Takes care as in…" fished Bruce.

"Eliminates," responded Ella, restarting her path on the carpet. "He's a criminal. My brother is a criminal. I'm not sure exactly what he does now, but I've heard his name mentioned a few times. It's never for a good reason. I know he has ties with the mob, but he tends to keep his organization separate."

"Does he still go by the name Ferrera?" asked Bruce, puzzled that he had never heard of Ella's brother.

"I have no idea," shrugged Ella. "But I know his name in the crime circles is Detective."

"Now that's a name I've heard," said Bruce, shifting in his chair. "Normally associated with money laundering, but I've heard he's responsible for some deaths in the mob itself."

"That's Vince," nodded Ella. "He killed my parents, too."

"What?" cried Bruce. "Did he tell you that? What about the trapeze accident?"

"He planned it," said Ella, suddenly changing her pattern and following a brownish line around the edge of the carpet. "He rigged the wires so they would snap in the air. He wanted our parents dead for what they did to him. He told me everything that night and said if I ever told anyone else, he'd kill me, too."

Ella stopped walking and stared at her shoes. She'd done it. She'd told Bruce the truth. But even worse than that, she had told Batman the truth. Her heart sank, and she was filled with an overwhelming dread at what she had just done. Vince was going to find out she had talked, and then Vince was going to kill her.

**...**

**Oh, no! Will Batman be able to defeat the Detective? Will Ella's brother come back to seek his revenge? Find out in the next issue of Bruce Wayne: Father! **

**And that is my impression of an old fashioned comic book. **

**I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Ella's trust in her guardian is fluctuating a lot as she struggles with the concept of someone actually caring for her. Let me know if it seems like I am rushing anything or should slow down certain aspects of emotional growth. It's hard to write reactions for a situation you have never been in, so hopefully, this is all making sense! Thanks for all the support and I'll see you guys next chapter :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**In case you haven't been able to tell, I am on an absolute writing streak. It will end any day now, so enjoy it while it lasts, because this is extremely unusual for me. But, hey, enough of my pessimistic comments. It's time for another chapter! Thanks for all the reviews and I hope you enjoy this next part!**

**...**

Alfred attributed the panic attack that followed Ella's story to mental trauma. When Ella insisted that only soldiers have problems like that, Alfred explained that anyone could have anxiety issues after experiencing a traumatic event. Ella's attack lasted around ten minutes and ended with Bruce holding her tightly to his chest and pleading with her to breathe as he did.  
"Feel my chest," he said, his arms wrapped tightly around her and pulling her against himself. "Let your chest rise and fall with mine. It's okay, Ella. You're safe here. It's alright."

It was in her bedroom forty minutes later, while drying off from a shower, that the mental health discussion took place.

"I haven't experienced anything traumatic, though," shouted Ella from the bathroom. "Not recently."

"Well, you very likely triggered it from your story," replied Alfred. "I am no mental health expert, but I would wager that's what happened."

"Does it mean I'm insane?" asked Ella, opening the door and coming into her room. She wore joggers and a t-shirt quite similar to her previous outfit. Her taste in clothing was simple and very limited.

"Well, your socks don't match," pointed out Alfred, "but other than that, I am quite sure you aren't insane. Just because you suffer from a form of anxiety or stress does mean you are any less of a person. Do you think I'm insane?"

Ella gave him an amused grin and shook her head, drops of water escaping from her curls, "I guess not. I mean, you do find joy in sort of mundane things like herb gardens and rose breeding, but that's not insanity."

Alfred shot her a glance over his shoulder as he attempted to organize the mismatched socks in her drawer, and huffed, "Well, I think mundane is not quite the word I would use, but be that as it may, you don't find me insane?"

"No," chuckled Ella, dropping into the chair at the end of her bed.

"Well, I used to suffer from PTSD," said Alfred.

"From what?" asked Ella, swinging her legs over the side of the armrest.

"A bomb," replied Alfred, trying to remember if he had seen a second red sock in the laundry room, or if the one he was holding was forever to be single. "I used to be in the military, you know."

"You were!" cried Ella, shifting in her chair. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"I am telling you now," said Alfred. "I was in the Army. Special Air Service, to be exact. When we were in Burma, a bomb went off beside me and killed two chaps I was very close to. It took me a very long time to get over that. I was twenty-years-old when it happened and I still had nightmares at thirty-five."

"But I don't have nightmares," said Ella, reaching down to grab one of her sneakers. "How did you get over it? I haven't ever felt like I did in Bruce's room just now. That was scary. Did you have to take medicine?"

"No, I never took medicine," said Alfred, sliding the sock drawer shut. "I saw a therapist a few times, but I couldn't make myself open up to him. Meditation helped me greatly. Relaxation techniques can be huge assists when it comes to trauma."

"Are you better now?" asked Ella, standing up and walking over to the butler. It made her sad to imagine the kind man in any sort of grief. Next to Bruce, he was her rock, and she couldn't guess what she would do if either of them went through what she just had.

"Yes," smiled Alfred, placing a hand on her shoulder as they walked towards the door, "thankfully, I haven't experienced an episode since before Master Wayne's birth."

"Good grief, Alfred!" exclaimed Ella. "How old are you?"

"Now, is that a very polite question?" asked Alfred, opening the bedroom door.

"You asked me how old I was when you drove me here from the orphan home," said Ella.

"It's called Gotham City Home for Girls, not the orphan home, and it's different when an adult asks a child that," replied Alfred, looking slightly annoyed. He didn't like to think about the fact that he was gaining years rather quickly and was what some might call an elderly man.

"Eighty?" questioned Ella, raising an eyebrow.

"Now, do I look eighty-years-old to you, young lady?" asked Alfred, leading them down the hallway towards the stairwell. "I certainly hope not. And if I do, it's due to the stress I am caused by raising two mischievous miscreants."

Ella giggled and put an arm around Alfred's waist, "Was Bruce annoying as a kid?"

"Insatiable," nodded Alfred. "First he was interested in drama, and then soccer, and then skiing…oh, now I have a ski-trip story that would rattle any parent! The things I put up with for that boy!"

"What horror stories are you telling her, Alfred?" asked Bruce, meeting them halfway up the staircase, dressed in his suit with his hair combed down. "Hey, missy," he grinned, enveloping Ella in a hug. "Feel better?"

"Tons," nodded Ella, still wary of his bruises but relishing the comfort of his arms. "Alfred was telling me how insatiable you were as a kid."

"Insatiable?" said Bruce, glancing at Alfred. "Do you even know what that means?"

"Hard to please," responded Ella.

"I suppose I was," nodded Bruce. "Alfred really pulled through on keeping me straight, though."

The three descended the rest of the staircase, and Ella raised an eyebrow as Bruce started for the hallway to the main door. "Are you leaving, Bruce?" she asked, hurrying after him.

"Yes, I have a meeting at three," nodded Bruce. "Alfred, don't tell her the ski-trip story. It's embarrassing. Ella, do whatever Alfred says. Oh, say, missy, could you run upstairs and grab me my briefcase? I left it by my bed."

"Sure, Bruce!" nodded Ella, turning and bounding up the stairs.

Bruce turned to the hallway mirror and straightened his tie, listening for Ella's footsteps to echo away, then sighed deeply, "Alfred, try to keep her occupied today. I don't want her having another attack like that. It scared the daylights out of me. Should we get a therapist or something? I don't know if that would help since she would refuse to tell him about her brother. Speaking of which, that's what this meeting is all about."

"Sir?" asked Alfred.

"I have a meeting with my computer in the cave," smirked Bruce, picking up his overcoat from the chair he had set it on. "I'm going to dig up all I can on this Vince Ferrera. I have a big job ahead of me getting him off the streets. It needs to be clean and arousing no suspicion on Ella's part. So, therapist?"

"May I suggest we wait on that, Master Wayne?" asked Alfred. "I've had some experience with this myself, and every person is different. I propose we take further steps if it gets worse, but leave it be for now."

Bruce nodded, "I always trust your judgment, Alfred. You're normally right."

"I would go as far as to say always right, sir," said Alfred, turning as Ella's footsteps sounding on the staircase. "How is your shoulder?" he mumbled before Ella drew near.

"It's fine, Alfred," sighed Bruce, but the butler could see the slight wince as Bruce gave his tie a final pat.

"Here ya go, Bruce," Ella smiled as she handed over the briefcase. Her cheeks were red from running and her face looking much brighter than it had that morning.

Despite her complexion, Bruce could see the tiredness in her eyes, and part of him longed to stay and take care of her. The panic attack she had experienced must have taken a lot out of her. But something of greater importance awaited him. Bruce leaned forward, kissing her forehead, "Okay, kiddo, see you later. You two have a good day and stay out of trouble."

"Never rests," said Alfred, shaking his head. "Well, Miss, what say we retire to the library and peruse some Shakespeare?"

…

"Well, this is certainly a turn of events," mumbled Bruce, leaning back in his desk chair. The screens before him all held the same face. The same name. The one person that he kept linking back to Vince "the Detective" Ferrera. "Sometimes known as Paul Napier," Bruce read to himself, "a brother of Jack Napier. So you play-act as his brother, my friend? Nothing good comes to those who closely associate with the Joker. And I'm sure you will find yourself no exception, Detective."

Memories of the previous night flashed through Bruce's mind, strong arms holding him down on every side as the Joker plunged the knife into his shoulder.

"How does it feel, Batsy?" giggled the clown, dragging the blade downward and relishing in the Batman's cries.

Bruce surely would have died if the Tumbler hadn't burst through the wall, guns firing. Thank goodness for autopilot.

Could Vince Ferrera have been one of the men holding him down? Was it too strong of a coincidence for the brother of the very child he loved to be involved with his greatest enemy? Or was it too good of a plan? Of course, Bruce didn't believe that Ella had anything to do with the Joker. Surely her coming to Wayne Manor was nothing short of a miracle, but could the clown be using it for his own good?

"Don't be stupid," Bruce whispered to himself. "Joker doesn't know who you are." Still, it was a strange coincidence.

And now he had some work to do. The Joker had escaped from Arkham just yesterday morning, and this time Bruce needed to put him away for good. After blowing up an entire hospital and terrorizing the city of Gotham, it was time for the Joker's reign to end. And with a child to care for, Bruce found a strange part of himself aching to be let out. It was a part he had never really experienced before on this high of a level. For the first time since donning the suit, he actually wanted to kill. He wanted to kill the Joker, but more than that, he wanted to kill Vince Ferrera.

"Fox?" asked Bruce, cell phone pressed to his ear. "I need a little favor. It will be dark in about six hours, and I work best in the dark. How fast can you get me a helicopter?"

**...**

**I have never experienced mental health issues, and I empathize greatly with those who do. I did a lot of research on how to write this section, and hope I didn't do too terribly. Hope you all enjoyed this chapter! I'm excited to see where this goes!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Your reviews are all so sweet! Thank you for your support! ****_Disclaimer: I own nothing Batman/DC_**

**...**

Everything was…foggy. Perhaps foggy was not the right word. Wavy seemed better. Ella would have said, "offbeat vibing." Ella. The thought of her made Bruce smile. After the Joker had killed the only woman he ever loved, Bruce had been sure his heart would never feel full again. Then that precious girl had entered his life.

Bruce tried to roll over, but pain shot through his leg, and a deep groan escaped his throat. An overwhelming urge shot over him to remove his cowl, but he didn't dare risk exposing his identity. The waves distorted his vision again and an involuntary whimper slipped free.

First, the Joker took Rachel from Bruce, and now he was going to take Bruce from Ella. "Never…again," whispered Bruce, painfully rolling his head to the side to look at the body of the Joker, stretched out on the ground ten feet away from him. He was dead.

The two had been fighting on the side of the building above them when the Joker lost his footing and pulled Bruce over the edge with him. Bruce had twisted so the Joker was beneath him, killing the man instantly on impact, while Bruce himself faired hardly better. It had taken him twenty minutes to crawl just a few feet, and now his energy was gone.

His mind turned to the papers sitting in his dresser drawer. The adoption papers. His original plan had consisted of taking Ella to one of his hotels and proposing the idea there, but Alfred had kindly reminded him that the last thing Ella would find enjoyable would be dressing up and eating fancy food. The secondary plan was much more suited to the girl's interest and involved a walk in the woods surrounding Wayne Manor, followed by asking Ella to be his daughter by the beautiful waterfall at the edge of the property. Bruce had planned on down it the night before Thanksgiving, just two days away. Now he would never have the chance.

…

Ella swung the front door open and squinted as her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the outside.

"Miss Ferrera, am I correct?" came a deep, rich voice.

"Yes, sir," nodded Ella, making out the shape of a tall man on the front landing. When the doorbell rang, Ella had decided she would have to answer it since Alfred was down in the Batcave. He had explained to her that Bruce had donned the suit for an urgent matter and promised to tell her everything after the vigilante was home safe and sound.

"I'm sorry to use the front door, but I've never been here and don't know how to access to Batcave," said the man.

"Batcave!" gasped Ella, her heart picking up speed. "How do you know…"

"My name is Lucius Fox," said the man. "And I'm sorry to not further explain myself, but we need to get him inside."

Only then did Ella looked past him and see the Tumbler parked in the front circle. She had never seen it in real life, and it gave her a shot of adrenaline, followed by a jolt of fear.

"Where's Bruce?" she whispered.

"Help me," said Fox, and turned to walk down the stairs. Ella hurried after him and watched, her heart pounding as he opened the passenger door revealing the unconscious form of the Batman.

"No!" cried Ella, a sob catching in her throat. She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Alfred. He gently moved her aside and helped Lucius pull Bruce's body from the car.

"I got your message," grunted Alfred.

"He's in bad shape," said Lucius, stooping under Bruce's weight.

Ella followed the men up the steps as they awkwardly carried Bruce inside. A million thoughts swirled through her mind, and she had to grab the doorpost to keep from falling over as she watched Alfred and Fox struggle to carry Bruce to the first-floor guest room.

"Ella! Go to my room and get the black bag under my bed!" called Alfred.

His voice seemed to flip a switch inside of her, and her one focus was suddenly doing whatever Bruce needed. Ella raced to Alfred's bedroom and slid to her knees by his bed, grasping underneath until her fingers closed over a leather medical bag. It was heavier than she expected, and she held it in both arms as she ran back to the bedroom Alfred and Fox had headed for.

"Should we remove the suit and take him to the hospital?" asked Fox.

"Perhaps," mumbled Alfred, taking the bag from Ella and giving her hand a quick, comforting squeeze. "It's alright, love," he said. "You can sit over there or leave. Whichever you prefer. Bruce will be alright." His voice sounded shaky, and he didn't make eye contact with the girl, instead choosing to focus on the contents of the bag and pulling out different medical instruments.

Ella backed away and, for the first time, looked at Bruce. His cowl had been removed, and he lay motionless on the bed while Fox bustled around him, starting to take off the suit. Bruce looked deathly pale, and blood had dried to his face as it trickled from his mouth. It was too much for her terrified heart. Ella turned and ran from the room and didn't stop until she was under the covers of her own bed. Then the sobs overtook her and she cried harder than she had in a very long time.

…

"I'm surprised he didn't find the camera, but I'm glad he didn't," said Fox, crossing his legs and leaning back in the comfortable chair he occupied. "He would have removed it for sure."

"Do you know how it happened?" asked Alfred, cutting the thread as he finished stitching a large gash on Bruce's forearm.

"The camera doesn't record, and I didn't look until he was out cold on the ground," said Fox.

The camera they were discussing was a hidden lens that Fox had built into the underside of the Tumbler. He wasn't sure what had made him do it, but a funny thought had itched his brain after showing Bruce the vehicle, and he had ultimately decided to attach the camera in case Bruce tried to get himself into something too big for Batman. It was a miracle that Fox had even checked the live footage when he did, and an even bigger miracle that Bruce had stopped moving within view of the camera. It had then been a matter of arriving before anyone else discovered the bodies, and another twenty minutes to lift the heavy man into the Tumbler. Fox was no spring chicken, and Bruce was a solid brick of muscle.

"Bloody fool," mumbled Alfred.

"Wayne?" asked Fox.

"Me," sighed Alfred. "When he told me this afternoon what he planned on doing, I knew he was in too much of a rage. I should have stopped him."

"Could you have?" mused Fox, raising an eyebrow.

Alfred scoffed, "No, I suppose not."

"The helicopter he requested is on the top of the capitol building. Heavens knows what he did with it," said Fox. "He wouldn't tell me a thing when he asked for it."

"Annoying, isn't it?" said Alfred, beginning on another gash near Bruce's shoulder.

"The less I know, the better," shrugged Fox.

"You're sure the clown was dead?" asked Alfred.

"Positive," nodded Fox. "I made sure the police arrived before I left. The body is in the right hands."

The two men fell silent as Alfred worked.

The night stretched on.

…

Ella woke up around six and was somewhat confused as to why she was sleeping on the wrong side of the bed under a pile of blankets. She struggled free and looked around her dim room, blinking the sleep from her eyes and stretching.

"What day is it?" she mumbled to no one in particular. Like a train, the memory of the previous night barreled into her, and she felt her heart drop into her stomach. That explained why her shoes were still on.

All thoughts of getting ready for the day escaped her mind as she dashed from the room and headed straight for the first-floor guest bedroom. She only slipped twice on the stairs, partly due to the foggy sleep still resting in her eyes and partly due to her shaking legs, but once on the main floor, her legs carried her sturdily down two halls until she came to a stop in front of the guest room door.

Should she go in? Knock? Sit and wait?

Her questions were answered when the door cracked open, and Lucius Fox slipped out. "Mr. Pennyworth heard you run up and asked me to come out," he said, his voice low and gentle. "Bruce is asleep. You can go in but stay quiet."

"Okay," nodded Ella, her body inadvertently bouncing up and down with nervous energy. Fox stepped aside, and Ella hurried past him into the dimly lit room.

A lamp was on in the far corner, casting a yellowish glow over the large mahogany bed. Bruce was under the covers and now wearing a white t-shirt in place of his suit. His hair was messy and flopped down over his closed eyes. Alfred sat beside him, gazing intently at his face as if waiting for any sign of consciousness.

"Come close," mumbled Alfred, holding his hand out, but his eyes still on Bruce.

Ella gingerly stepped around the bed and came to Alfred's side. The butler put his arm around her waist and drew her around to sit on his knee, wrapping both arms around the girl and pulling her close against himself. Ella's head rested on his shoulder and she took a shaky breath.

"He'll be alright," nodded Alfred, reassuringly rubbing Ella's back. "He woke up a while back and I think he's resting fairly peacefully now. I've stitched all the cuts and set his leg. Aside from some nasty bruises, he should be fine after a lot of much-needed rest."

"Leg?" whimpered Ella. "What's wrong with his leg?"

"Broken," replied Alfred. "But not badly. It's his knee I'm worried about. As soon as he's awake, we'll need to discuss further medical care. It will take someone beyond my expertise."

"Why did this happen?" asked Ella, tightening her grip around Alfred's chest. "I just found out he was Batman two days ago and now this. Who did this to him? It has to do with Vince, doesn't it? Bruce didn't go to any business meeting yesterday. Did he?"

Alfred sighed, "No, love. He didn't. Now I'm going to do a whole lot of talking, and I want you to do a whole lot of listening. Deal? You can ask questions when I'm done."

"Okay," murmured Ella.

Alfred shifted into a more comfortable position so he could still keep an eye on Bruce's face and cleared his throat, "I know we promised you we'd be open, but Bruce also warned you that some things he would have to keep private. Now I can't tell him what he should and shouldn't share with you, but this was a rather unique situation. A few days ago, the Joker broke out of Arkham." Alfred felt Ella tense in his arms, but she didn't say anything, allowing him to continue, "That's who cut Bruce up when you found us the other night. Or morning. The days are starting to run together. Anyway, when you told us about your brother, Bruce went down to see what he could dig up. Turns out Vince Ferrera is in very close working quarters with this fellow the Joker. After what you told Bruce, he suddenly found himself scared of losing you. Now what do I mean by that, I'm sure you're wondering? First of all, your brother is a money launderer, and Bruce discovered that Vince has ties with Wayne Enterprises. For a man of your brother's standing, that could only mean one thing."

"He was stealing," whispered Ella.

"Right," nodded Alfred. "Second, if your brother is working with the Joker, something big was going to go down soon, and it could very well have involved you. How? Knowing your brother's background, he would be in it for the money. And Bruce thought that a sure way for him to get money was through the billionaire himself. Surely your brother would know who your guardian is, and what would stop him from using you to his advantage?"

"To get Bruce's money," said Ella, sitting upright on Alfred's lap.

Alfred nodded, "Exactly what Bruce feared. Vince was working with the Joker, though. And we know from experience that money means nothing to the man. Yet he knows how to use people, and he could very well have used your brother to bring down Bruce Wayne. Of course, he couldn't have known that Bruce was Batman, but to bring down someone who has as much pull in this city as Bruce does would surely cause chaos."

"And it would have been my fault," said Ella, her dark eyes filled with a deep dread.

"No," said Alfred, shaking his head sharply. "Absolutely not. The sins of others are the faults of no one but themselves. We all have choices, young lady. Your brother has not made sagacious ones in his life. That has nothing to do with you."

"What if I had never told Bruce the truth?" whimpered Ella, a tear sliding down her cheek. "What if everything you just said had happened? Then it would have been my fault for keeping it to myself."

"Now, is that what happened?" asked Alfred. "No. You did a courageous thing sharing your past with us, and it was perfect timing, too. We won't have to worry about that devil the Joker anymore."

"What happened?" asked Ella. "How did Bruce get like this? Is the Joker dead?"

Alfred nodded, "Yes, he's dead. We aren't sure what happened, but he's dead. As for Bruce, Mr. Fox doesn't know how he got like this, but we have an awful lot to thank him for. He found Bruce and brought him home and we owe Mr. Fox an enormous amount of gratitude."

"How does he know?" asked Ella, wiping at the tears that kept slipping free. "About Batman?"

"He's been our friend since the beginning," replied Alfred. "Where do you think Bruce gets all his fancy Batman toys? Mr. Fox is our insider at Wayne Enterprises for all things Batman."

"You have an insider in Bruce's own company?" asked Ella.

"Yes, and thank heavens, we do," nodded Alfred.

"Alfred," said Ella, turning and looking intently at Bruce. "Did Mr. Fox see…does he know if…" she sighed deeply, "where is my brother?"

"I don't know, dear," said Alfred truthfully. "Bruce spoke to me very little while he was working tonight, and he never mentioned your brother. I honestly don't know."

The conversation was halted when a slight moan escaped Bruce's lips, and in seconds, both butler and ward were at his side.

"Master Wayne?" asked Alfred, touching the man's forehead lightly.

"Oh, Alfred," groaned Bruce, squeezing his eyes and then slowly opening them. "I think I got run over by a truck."

"Well, since none of us knows differently, you very well could have been," replied Alfred, grabbing a glass of water from the bedside table.

"I don't think I was," said Bruce, shifting uncomfortably. "But I did fall off a building. How did I get here? Ella, darling!" Bruce's eyes came to life when he noticed Ella at Alfred's side.

"Bruce!" cried Ella, fighting back the threatening tears that gathered in her eyes. She felt like she had been crying for days. "Bruce, I thought you were going to die!"

Bruce chuckled, "Oh, not yet, missy." He reached out and shakily grasped Ella's hand in his. "I'm going to be just fine, kid."

Alfred, himself fighting back the tears, cleared his throat and stood up, "Alright, we're all delighted you are back to life but no more of this 'just fine' business until we make sure it's true. You've got broken bones and a black eye and probably some bruised ribs and we need to make up an excellent excuse and get you to the hospital."

"Skiing?" smirked Bruce.

"Now, don't bring up that horrible trip," said Alfred, pointing a stern finger at his young master. "Those are memories I don't need right now. I was thinking of a flying accident. Perhaps something that involves stranding the prototype helicopter you borrowed from the Wayne Enterprises' Applied Sciences Division."

"I think we could work with that," nodded Bruce. "It would be nice to get some real medical help for a change."

"He's awake for two minutes, and already the sarcasm runs free," huffed Alfred, faking a gruff voice.

"Oh, Alfred, you know I wouldn't trade you for the world," smiled Bruce, his hand still tightly wrapped around Ella's.

"Don't move a muscle from that bed, young man," instructed Alfred sternly as he left to arrange the hospital situation with Fox.

"Oh, Bruce!" cried Ella, throwing herself onto him the minute the door shut behind Alfred.

"Hey, now," chuckled Bruce, wincing, "watch the…well, all of me."

"I'm sorry," whimpered Ella, moving, so she lay to his side, arm around his chest, "I was so scared, Bruce."

"So was I," admitted the man, already feeling a million times better to be here with his girl. His girl. It felt good to think of her that way. "And actually, I have something kind of important to ask you."

"What Bruce?" asked Ella, sitting up so she could see his face.

"When I fell off that building, I thought for sure I was going to die," said Bruce, the memory giving him a chill. "And the only thing I could think of was that I never had a chance to ask you."

"Ask me what?" urged Ella, searching his eyes.

"Can you go and get something from my room?" asked Bruce. "In the top drawer of my dresser, there is an envelope with my name on it. Bring it down here, but don't look inside, okay?"

"Okay," nodded Ella, scrambling to her feet. "I'll be right back!"

It seemed to Ella she had been running through the manor a lot recently, but again she found herself racing up the stairs to Bruce's bedroom. She opened all three top drawers of the dresser before finding the folder in the last one, and then it was back through the halls and stairwells to the guest room downstairs.

"I got it!" she said, cheeks pink from her run.

"Open it," nodded Bruce, wanting to do it himself but realizing he could barely lift his arms.

Ella pulled the tri-folded papers from the unsealed envelope and looked questioningly at Bruce. With his nod, she opened the documents and scanned the first one.

"What…what is this, Bruce?" she asked, the realization not sinking in.

"Adoption papers," said the man. "I was planning on asking you in a slightly more exciting way, but I realized that there is no time like the present. Ella Ferrera, would you do me the honor of being my daughter?"

The emotions that flooded Ella's heart were so many and so strong that she was quite surprised it didn't knock her over. The papers dropped from her hand, and the tears that had been forced down for the past few minutes broke free. Dropping to her knees by the bed, Ella resumed her position at Bruce's side, her right arm thrown over his chest, as her words sought to free themselves, but were drowned out by her sobs.

"Hey, now," smiled Bruce, "I didn't think I would make all that terrible of a father."

"Oh, Bruce!" cried Ella, her voice muffled in his blankets. "You're the only father I would ever want!"

The words shot straight to Bruce's heart, and he now found himself crying. Tears were in full abundance in Wayne Manor that morning. With a wince and a shot of pain, Bruce lifted his left arm up and over Ella and held her close. "Those are the sweetest words I have ever heard," he mumbled, pulling her upward and pressing his lips to her head. "My daughter. My own little girl. I love you, Ella. I love you more than you can ever imagine."

"I love you too, Bruce," sobbed Ella, resting her head on his chest. "I love you too."

**...**

**Awwwwww. Now, this is the chapter I have been dying to write. It's all cute Bruce and Ella stuff from here on out, guys! Well, I mean Batman is still brooding and dark but let's face it, with Ella at his side, Bruce can't help but be adorable. **


	8. Chapter 8

**Hi, guys! Bit of a shorter chapter here, but it's plenty sappy. Also, I wanted to give you all a basic timeline. This story is taking place after the events of _The Dark Knight_, but minus the whole "Batman killed Harvey Dent" deal. So it is basically an AU where Batman is still Gotham's hero and we can all just use our imaginations as for what happened to Harvey. Maybe he died in the fuel explosion. It's up to you, I guess.**

**...**

"It's court day!" called Bruce, using the toe of his dress shoe to knock on Ella's door. He finished buckling his belt, suit coat slung over the crook of his arm, as he waited for the girl's response.

"I know!" came Ella's voice through the door. "I've been up for two hours. Why'd you sleep in so late?" She swung the door open and greeted Bruce with an ear-to-ear grin, face flushed pink with excitement.

"Late? It's 7 a.m.," responded Bruce, slipping his dark gray custom suitcoat on. "Hey, now, aren't you pretty!" Bruce's eyes sparkled as he looked over his young ward, dressed as he had never seen her before.

Alfred had tastefully dressed Ella in a lacy off-white dressed with three-quarter sleeves and a hem that rested just below her knees. Silver flats and a simple, yet elegant hair bow completed the look. Due to Ella's tall height and fit physique, she was often thought to be much older than her thirteen years, but in that moment, and for the first time to Bruce, she looked every bit the young girl she was.

"Not my choice," mumbled Ella. "Does it really look okay?"

Bruce laughed and tucked one of Ella's curls behind her left ear, "I think you look absolutely okay. I would even go as far as to say beautiful."

The color in Ella's cheeks darkened to red, and she turned away from Bruce to hide the tears that suddenly filled her eyes. "Well, that's good," she said, turning off her light and pulling the door shut as she stepped into the hallway. "Thought maybe I was giving off too much of a billionaire kid vibe."

"You are a billionaire kid," said Bruce, putting his arm around Ella's shoulders. "11.6 billion to be exact."

"That's how much money you have!" cried Ella, shocked at hearing the number for the first time.

Bruce chuckled and slid his left hand into his pocket as they walked, "Yeah, personally. Wayne Enterprises is closer to 24."

"Billion?" gasped Ella. "That's a good bit."

"Yeah, quite a good bit," Bruce nodded, squeezing the girl close to his side. "And it only took a small fortune of it to speed up the adoption process."

"I know exactly how much you spent, and it was not a small fortune," scoffed Ella. "It was a big fortune and I am worth every cent."

Bruce laughed aloud and nodded, "You absolutely are, missy. How do you know, anyway?"

"Alfred told me," replied Ella.

…

**Four Days Before**

It was almost three p.m., and Bruce had been in a meeting since early that morning. Ella's English tutor had given her a load of tiresome homework and she had rather harshly demanded of Alfred to know when Bruce would be home so she could talk herself out of completing it. Alfred had taken her by the shoulders and looked her straight in the eye.

"Do you know where Bruce is right now?" he had asked.

"His company," shrugged Ella, keeping her eyes down. She was embarrassed at her sharp words and wanted to apologize, but pride was blocking her ability to form the words.

"No," said Alfred. "He's in a meeting trying to speed up your adoption process, so it doesn't take the full sixteen months the court projected to him."

Ella looked up and met the butler's eyes for a fraction of a second before dropping her head again, "How's he gonna do that?"

"The same way I brought you home with me the first day I met you," replied Alfred. "Money talks in this city, and Bruce cares enough about you to spend whatever it takes. You're his world now and he has no patience, much like you."

Ella groaned and leaned forward, her head resting against Alfred's chest, "Oh man, I'm sorry, Alfred. I'm the worst."

"Well, now," said Alfred, putting his arms around Ella, "I wouldn't go so far as to say the worst. Bear in mind, I raised Bruce and he put me through hell on earth. I know a thing or two about the worst. You're just tired from your tutoring today. That being said, do you think that gives you an excuse to be disrespectful?"

"No, sir," said Ella. "I'm really sorry, Alfred. Do you forgive me?" The words were foreign on her tongue, as apologizing was not something she was used to doing.

"Of course, I forgive you," said Alfred. He held her out at an arm's length and searched her face. Ella looked back, and a smile tugged at her lips, happiness passing through her eyes and making Alfred smile.

"Ah, there's my girl," he said. "Now, what say we work on your homework together and wait for Bruce? We can shock him when he asks how much schoolwork you have left before bed and you can say none."

Ella giggled and nodded, "Okay, Alfred. Thanks."

The two walked towards Ella's schoolroom, which had been set up next to the east wing library.

"Say, Alfred," said Ella, tilting her head towards the butler, "Just how much does it take to speed up an adoption process?"

…

**Present Time**

"Alfred! It's time to go!" called Bruce as they reached the bottom of the staircase. Both Bruce and Ella had taken breakfast in their rooms, anticipating the early departure for their 8 o'clock hearing that morning, and Bruce assumed Alfred was still cleaning things up in the kitchen.

"Well ahead of you, sir," said Alfred, coming around the corner with coats over his arm. "The car is out front."

"Excellent," said Bruce, his heart swelling slightly. He knew it was Alfred's job to be on top of things, but it always relieved him to see the butler was a few steps ahead of everyone else.

Within five minutes, the three were well on their way towards Gotham City with Ella tucked under Bruce's arm, and both men's hearts bursting with excitement.

…

"Bloody, blooming heck, Pop!" Ella rolled onto her side, and a low moan escaped her lips.

"That was near the top on the list of things I never thought you would say to me," said Bruce, closing Ella's door behind him and approaching the bed with a glass of water in one hand and a bottle of DayQuil in the other.

"Padre, I wish to die," cried the girl, gripping her sheets tightly and kicking hard until her blankets were bunched at the bottom of the bed.

"I know," said Bruce. "Alfred is feeling about the same. He said just about the same thing to me when I brought him his medicine. The bloody, blooming heck part I mean, though Alfred's was slightly more expletive. Here, drink this."

"Medicine is trash," said Ella, rolling over to face Bruce. Her curls were a mess and strewn over her flushed face. A fever had come and gone for the past day, and Ella had slept for almost twenty hours, battling achy joints and a heavy cough.

"You were far worse before I gave it to you this morning," said Bruce. "At least your fever seems to be gone. Alfred still has one."

"I wanna be done, Aba," said Ella, shakily taking the medicine cup from Bruce.

"I don't think you have called me the same thing more than one time since the court day," chuckled Bruce, watching to make sure Ella swallowed every drop of medicine.

Ella made a face and handed the cup back to Bruce, whimpering as she reached for the water. She drank half the glass then sighed, "Yeah, well, I haven't decided what I like best yet. What do you like best?"

"All of them," responded Bruce. The first time Ella called him 'Dad,' the joy that filled his heart had been unexplainable and it humored him to hear her try different variations of the term.

"What are you going to do when you get sick?" asked Ella, setting her water glass on the bedside table.

"When I get sick?" asked Bruce. "And what makes you think I have time to get sick?"

"Alfred doesn't have time, and he's sick," responded Ella, settling back onto her pillows and brushing her hair back from her face. "Oh, Papa Bruce, I want to die!"

Bruce stood and gathered the cups and tissues scattered over the table and raised an eyebrow, "I'm pretty sure you'll be fine by tomorrow morning, and whatever you do, please don't end up calling me Papa Bruce. Sounds like I'm eighty-years-old."

"Goodnight, Papa Bruce," said Ella, turning onto her side. "I'll ring when I need you."

"Hilarious," said Bruce. "Okay, I'll be back up in a bit. I need to go deal with some emails."

Bruce left and hurried down the hall, awkwardly balancing the used cups and medicine in his hands. He was tired and his knee hurt. Alfred and Ella had been suffering bad colds leaving him to care for them and the household. The respect he held for Alfred had grown enormously in the past twenty-four hours as he found himself barely able to keep up with everything that needed to be done. Cooking, dishes, answering the phone, dealing with random people that came to the door, doctoring Alfred and Ella, laundry, repeat. Twice now, Alfred had stumbled into the kitchen half-dressed and insisting on preparing the next meal and both times had found Bruce supporting the elderly man's weight as he ushered him back to bed for much-needed rest.

"You haven't had a day off in twenty years," Bruce had said. "Enjoy it."

"Just as much of a sarcastic brat as you ever were," Alfred had mumbled, burrowing underneath his blankets.

Bruce had just finished depositing the glasses in the sink when a terrible thing happened. It was the one thing Bruce had been sure would cause him to have a mental breakdown if it occurred. It was the worst possible outcome available for the current situation.

Bruce sneezed.

"No," he whispered, grasping the edge of the counter with both hands. "No. No. No. No. No, please, no. I cannot get sick." He grabbed the DayQuil and drank a swig straight from the bottle. "Oh, please, no. I can't be. It can't be." His knee was started to ache and he sighed, reaching down to rub it. The broken leg had healed up nicely after his fall with the Joker, but his knee had never been quite the same.

The doorbell rang.

"Whoever it is, go away!" shouted Bruce. He groaned and spun on his heel to go and answer the door. How on earth did Alfred do it? Down through the halls and stopping to gather himself before answering the bell, Bruce took a deep breath and swung the door open.

"Hello," nodded the man standing before him. "Bruce Wayne? Nice to meet you. I'm Vince Ferrera, and I believe you have something of mine."

**...**

**Ah, it can't be all cute from here on out. We have to deal with that terrible brother of Ella's first. This should be good! Well, we can hope. It all depends on what my disorganized and rather ridiculous brain comes up with next. ****_In avanti_****! Onward!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Okay, I lied. It isn't all sappy stuff from now on. But, hey, why not explore the inner depths of Bruce's psyche and wrench Ella's emotions into every shape imaginable? ****_Disclaimer: I own nothing Batman/D.C._**

**...**

Ella decided she had been in bed quite enough. It was nearing 6 p.m., and she did not intend to spend the evening alone in her room. A shower sounded terrific and she indulged, letting the hot water soak into her aching muscles. Why did a person's entire body have to hurt during a cold? Wasn't it only supposed to affect the head and chest? Twenty minutes later, Ella was lacing her high tops and feeling remarkably better. She knew deep down that was the DayQuil doing its job, but she preferred to believe it was because she had miraculously been cured.

Throwing the blankets across the bed in what Alfred would have described as "the cob-job of an impatient hedonist without the wherewithal to realize they are avoiding the joy of satisfaction," Ella slipped from her room and started off to find Bruce. Her first stop was his bedroom since it was closer than the first floor, but it proved to be empty. She considered going down one of the back stairwells, but it was always dark in the halls this time of night and she felt uneasy walking through the immense mansion by herself. The main staircase was still lit up and Bruce would probably have been using that one to go between herself and Alfred. Running down the hallway (she ran everywhere in the mansion so it wouldn't take her ten minutes to reach the nearest bathroom), Ella almost missed the sound of voices echoing against the walls. An unusually loud shout stopped her in her tracks and she stood still, straining to hear what was being said.

"Who is that?" she whispered to herself. One of the voices was definitely Bruce, an angry Bruce at that. The other voice was familiar but she couldn't quite place it. It was angry, too.

The words "flesh and blood" bounced down the hall, and Ella furrowed her brow. Who on earth was yelling, and what were they yelling about? It sounded like they were talking in the main entryway, and she knew she could make it at least to the landing of the grand staircase without being noticed. The banisters were enormous enough to hide behind during her descent.

Stepping as lightly as possible, Ella crept down another hall and hurried down the stairs, stopping just behind a pillar on the landing. The yelling never stopped, and now it was clear as day.

"I'm telling you, Wayne, if you don't give her to me right now, I am going to blow you to pieces!"

"And prove what?" came Bruce's voice. It was angry but quieter than the other man's. "If you kill me and take my daughter, they will trace you before tomorrow morning."

"Oh, yeah," said the second man, his voice softer now. "I read something in the paper last week about you adopting her. Suppose that was a good publicity boost for you."

"Why do you want her?" asked Bruce.

"I explained that already," came the annoyed voice, "she belongs to me. She's my sister!"

Fear exploded through Ella's veins, and the world was suddenly dark and cold. It felt like the ceiling was collapsing down on her and the walls were closing in on every side. She tried to take a breath, but her chest wouldn't rise and the air seemed too heavy to provide oxygen anyway. An unusually high pitched ring was shrieking in her ears, but her hands couldn't lift to block the sound out. The ground seemed to disappear, but she felt no pain when she hit the floor. Only then did she find movement and covered her head, silently crying for it all to stop.

A gunshot sliced through the wall, and Ella scrambled to her feet, the ringing silenced, but the air even more oppressive than before.

"No more chances, Wayne! Give me the girl!"

Ella ran. She turned and went back the way she came, using every ounce of her strength to push her forward. She couldn't go with Vince. She wouldn't go with Vince! The mere mention of his names gave her chills, and to hear his voice again was terrorizing. The man that had murdered her parents was in this very house and threatening to kill the only chance she had left.

Ella stopped.

Bruce. She was running away from Bruce, and he needed help. Surely he wouldn't turn her over to Vince, but would he die refusing to oblige?

"The gun," Ella whispered, spinning to look down the hall to Bruce's bedroom. "I need the gun."

The gun was a Taurus 85 sitting in the far right top drawer of Bruce's dresser. Ella had seen it beneath Bruce's undershirts while searching for the envelope with her adoption papers in it the morning after he fought the Joker. She turned and ran down the hall, but every step seemed to take more effort and for a minute, Ella almost believed she was having a nightmare. Weren't dreams like this? Everything is deranged and unattainable, and the end is always in sight but never quite in reach? No, she was in Bruce's room now. This wasn't a dream.

Pulling open the drawer, Ella pushed aside the neatly folded shirts and felt the bottom of the drawer. There was nothing there. A quick search of the rest of the dresser proved fruitless, and Ella slumped to the ground with a cry. Bruce must have moved the gun! What was left to do?

Ella knew the exact answer to that question.

"I've got to go with him," she sighed, pulling her knees tight against her chest. "I've got to go with Vince and save my dad's life. I've got to. I have to. I need to." She said the words over and over, but the ability to stand and leave the room seemed impossible. "Get up," she whispered, rocking back and forth. "Get up. Get up. Go help my dad. Get up." Still, she sat on the floor by the dresser, pulling her knees so tightly against her chest that her upper arms began to ache from the tension.

It seemed like hours passed, but in reality, it only took seconds for anger to begin budding in Ella's soul. It started in her stomach and bubbled up to her heart before shooting straight into her eyes and causing her to leap up from the ground.

"Vince killed my parents once," said Ella out loud. "He's not going to do it again." She left the room, not even daring to think for fear of losing this sudden burst of courage. Or was it stupidity? Whichever one, she didn't want the fire that pushed her forward to go out, so she kept her mind focused on the image of her brother's face in her mind.

Before she even knew what had happened, Ella was at the top of the grand staircase, but going down was unnecessary. Bruce and Vince were already halfway up.

"Well, well, well," laughed Vince, a broad grin stretching across his face. "If it isn't my baby sister. It's been a while, kid."

"Hello, Vince," said Ella, focusing on the fire and ignoring the fear that was frantically knocking on the backdoor of her mind.

Vince, gun pointed at Bruce, took a step forward, switching his glance between father and daughter, "Wayne here reminded me you were his kid now. I'd forgotten about that."

"Yes," nodded Ella, stepping down one step. "He's my dad. If you want me to go with you, I can't. You have no legal ties to me."

"Legal is a foolish word," sighed Vince, taking another step toward Bruce. He was still out of the man's arm length, but Ella wasn't sure why that was stopping Bruce from taking him down. Vince was looking directly at her and she was quite sure Bruce could quickly get the gun away from him from where he stood. She supposed it was a whole different playing field when you weren't wearing a bulletproof suit. Vince put his hand out and rested it against the same column Ella had been hiding behind. "See, I haven't appreciated the word legal since I was twenty-years-old. Do you remember the night our parents died, Ella?"

"You mean the night you killed them?" she shot back, glaring daggers at the man.

"A harsh way to put it, but yes," shrugged Vince, standing upright again and running his free hand through his light brown hair. It was straight and combed back like Bruce's, but with much less style in mind. Vince's whole look did anything but suggest style and the suit pants he wore featured a tear across the left knee. His white dress shirt was tucked in but obviously hadn't been ironed and if there ever had been a tie and suit coat, they were long gone.

"What about it?" asked Ella, frantically trying not to remember that night.

"It's one of my favorite memories," chuckled Vince. "I hated our parents. They never loved me, and I knew it. Why else did they go and have you when I was fifteen? I was almost grown up and they wanted another child to dote on. You realize I saved you from outgrowing their care? The same thing would have happened to you. Of course, they would have been too old to have another child but they could have adopted a cat or something. By killing them, I saved you the pain of watching another take your place like I watched you."

"That's not true," said Ella. "They did love you. Dad was heartbroken when you were fired. I can still remember him crying."

"Heartbroken?" shouted Vince. The sudden volume made Ella flinch, but she still held on to the fire, pushing her forward. Unfortunately, it was starting to run low on fuel. Vince chuckled and shook his head, "You know Dad was the one who had the circus fire me to begin with."

"Yes, I know," responded Ella. "He did it because he was scared you would get hurt if you kept doing all those crazy stunts during the show. He did it for your own good."

"No, he did it because he didn't want me to outshine his act," said Vince. Another step closer to Bruce. "Dad knew I was better than he was, and he hated it."

"Not true," replied Ella.

Vince smashed his fist against the column and roared, "How would you know? You were only a baby?"

Ella stepped back up to the top of the staircase and felt the walls begin to close around her again. "I wasn't a baby, I was five," she said. "I could see how much it hurt him to lose you."

"Lies you have told yourself over the years," nodded Vince. "I can't hold that against you. How else could you cope with moving in and out of those crack houses for years? You know, I saw an old foster parent of yours the other day. Remember the Nolan's? Did you know there is a warrant out for Mr. Nolan's arrest? He was caught with a ridiculous amount of marijuana in his possession. Real great foster care system we have in this city. You oversee that, don't you Wayne? You're doing a wonderful job!"

"No, he doesn't oversee that," snapped Ella, the fire rekindling from Vince's degrading remark to Bruce. "Look, Vince, this is all a bunch of talk. What are you here for? Why do you want me?"

"Oh, sweetheart," said Vince, a laugh rumbling through his chest. "You know what I do! Money is my name, and blackmail is my game. You'll only be with me for a few nights at the most. Your sweet daddy here just needs to post your bail. Anywhere between 300 to 400 million will do me just fine. I'm really not particular, you can pick the price, Wayne. We are honestly taking far too long to do this. Ella, dear, why don't you go grab one of your priceless jackets and let's hit the road. I haven't had a cigarette in almost an hour and it's getting to be that time again."

Ella glanced at Bruce and began to honestly wonder what he was doing. Vince's attention had been so focused on her that there was no reason for Bruce to have not taken the man down. What was he waiting for? Ella looked at Vince and shook her head, "I'm not going with you."

"Well, I guess I'll just kill your daddy then," shrugged Vince. He aimed the gun at Bruce's head, and Ella's heart lurched.

"No, stop! No, don't do anything. Okay, I'm coming," she started down the stairs, the fire almost out wholly. It was replaced by a pinball machine, bouncing its ball against her fear, terror, and love for Bruce at a million miles an hour.

"Good girl," nodded Vince, holding out an arm to her. When she was close enough, he took hold of her shirt and began to back away from Bruce, still holding the gun on him. "Okay, Wayne, I'll leave the instructions downstairs. I've really made it incredibly simple for you, and if you play fair, this worthless brat will be back here in three days. Take care of that shoulder, huh?"

Ella wrenched around in Vince's grip and finally got a good view of Bruce. He had been standing sideways to her the entire time she and Vince had talked, and it was only now that she saw the blood soaking his left sleeve and the distinct glimpse of a bullet wound right below his shoulder near his chest.

Bruce had been shot. That was why he hadn't made a move against Vince. Ella's heart sank, and she couldn't even bear to meet Bruce's eyes.

They made it to the bottom of the staircase, and Vince pulled a folded paper from his back pocket, letting it drop the ground. "So long, Wayne!" he called. "Nice meeting you. Thanks for taking care of the kid for a while." Vince let go of Ella's shirt and immediately replaced his grip with her right ear, pinching it tightly.

"Ah, Vince, no!" she cried, rising onto the balls of her feet as he tugged her along. "Ow, please, Vince!" They were across the entry now and Vince was opening the door. He was taking her away from Bruce. Now they were outside and almost to the bottom of the porch steps. Where on earth had that gun been? Why had Bruce moved it? "Vince!" cried Ella, her hands clasped over his fingers as they threatened to tear her ear clean off.

"Get in," he muttered, shoving her inside of a sleek, black sports car.

Ella slipped into the passenger seat and immediately pulled open the glove compartment, somehow hoping there would be a gun stashed there. She breathed a sigh of relief when there wasn't, and knew that she was just as glad that Bruce's gun had been missing. There was no way she could have shot her brother, even if he had tried to kill Bruce. It made Ella sick to think about and she pulled her knees against her chest again, burying her face in her arms.

"Shut up, listen up, and do exactly what I say, and you'll be fine," said Vince, slamming the driver's side door shut and firing up the engine. He revved the gas as a farewell jeer to Bruce, then sped away from the manor, slipping his gun into the pocket of his door. "And don't start crying or anything. I don't need to deal with that right now. Say, what are you, anyway? Ten? Eleven?"

"Thirteen," mumbled Ella.

"Oh, gosh, really?" asked Vince. "It really has been a long time, eh, lil sis? Last time I saw you was probably two years ago. I gave you a candy bar, remember?"

"Yeah, I threw it in a fountain," replied Ella.

"Smart," nodded Vince. "Never take candy from strangers. And, honey, there is nobody less known to the world than me. I'm invisible. That cracked up old billionaire won't be able to trace me with the best army in the world. Not even Batman could figure out where I'm taking you."

"Where are you taking me?" asked Ella, lifting her head slightly and deciding she should probably pay attention to the landscape. It might come in handy to know where she was.

"Someplace special," said Vince, adjusting the heat. "Warm enough? I told you to grab a jacket. It's the middle of February, you know."

"Yeah, shouldn't you slow down?" asked Ella, looking out the windshield at the empty roads. Wayne Manor was a reasonable distance from the city, and not much traffic passed by. The streets here were white with the recent snow, and it seemed plows hadn't bothered with the backroads in a few hours. Ella suddenly became aware of the fact that they were traveling away from Gotham City, and her stomach turned. Hopefully, they were going somewhere the police could find them. But what police? Did she really think Bruce would call the police? Of course, not. But what would he do? He had been shot, for goodness sake! Bruce was probably lying on the landing of the grand staircase bleeding to death and Alfred was battling a high fever. There was no one to help her. Ella was alone with her murderous brother traveling away from the only people in the world that cared about her. "Vince, please don't!"

"I can drive a car," scoffed the man. "Settle down."

"No, I mean, please don't take me away from them!"

"Them?" asked Vince, turning on his windshield wipers to battle the gathering snow in his vision.

"Alfred and Bruce," said Ella, slumping down in her seat. She was exhausted. No more fire inside of her tonight. It occurred to her that the DayQuil was probably wearing off. A cough confirmed her suspicions. "I'm sick."

"What?" asked Vince.

"Why did you shoot him?" asked Ella, sitting upright again. "He didn't even have a gun."

"Yes, he did," said Vince. "That's why I shot him. He pulled a gun on me, and I honestly don't know why he didn't kill me. I wasn't even looking at him. Typical spoiled rich boy. He's probably got the courage of a scared kid."

So that's where Bruce's gun had gone to. But why had he been carrying it? And why hadn't he defended himself against Vince?

"Batman doesn't kill."

Alfred's words flew through her mind in a flashback to one of their conversations a few weeks before. It had been Bruce's first night out on patrol since his incident with the Joker, and Ella been asking Alfred scores of questions about how Bruce operated, chiefly why he hadn't just killed the Joker to begin with. Batman didn't kill. It was the reason Bruce had gone over the roof with the clown to begin with.

That not-so-long-ago night had started out as a vengeance job, with Bruce's full intent being the deaths of Vince Ferrera and the Joker. He had only made it as far as Gotham City before realizing he could not do it. After tracking down the Joker and battling it out, he had almost sliced the man's throat twice, but something held him back. Why couldn't he kill this lord of terror? This lunatic who had murdered the woman he loved and countless others was at the tips of his fingers, accessible for whatever the Batman wanted to administer, but he couldn't do it. And he knew why, too. The Joker wanted him to. It was a psychological game of wits, and the Joker would not stop until he had broken every last rule the Batman abided by. But could Bruce Wayne kill? Were Bruce and the Batman even separate identities? As he had struggled with the Joker, Bruce wasn't entirely sure he could answer that question.

Of course, Ella knew none of that. She didn't understand Bruce's reasoning, and it even further confused her that he had been carrying his gun.

"Hey, reach into the back and grab my coat," said Vince. "You haven't stopped shivering since we left. What's wrong with you, anyway? I've got the heat all the way up."

"I told you I'm sick," replied Ella, turning in the seat and pulling Vince's suit coat from the back of the car. She welcomed the extra warmth as she tried to tuck her entire body under the jacket, pulling it tight around her shoulders.

"That's quite excellent, actually," said Vince. "With any luck, you'll do a lot of sleeping and leave me in peace. Or I could just knock you out myself, but this might save me the trouble."

Ella coughed again and groaned. She was starting to feel downright awful again, and she longed for the horrible taste of that terrible medicine. Sleep seemed like a delightful idea at the moment. The pressure of her sickness, mixed with the adrenaline highs and lows she had just gone through, had created intense exhaustion and her eyes seemed to close on their own accord. The warmth of the car and the rocking of the vehicle quickly lulled her into a sleepy state and the last thought she had before drifting off was Bruce lying in a puddle of blood and whispering her name.

**...**

**If a chapter has ever written itself, it was that chapter right there. I turned that sucker out faster than Hogwarts goes through DADA teachers. Leave a review and let me know if you enjoyed it! Thanks for all the wonderful support, everyone! It means the world to know people enjoy reading my silly old stories. **


	10. Chapter 10

**Oh boy, guys, this is getting exciting. I promise I intended for this to be a cute little story of Daddy Bruce bringing up a kid, but it has definitely taken an adventurous turn. We'll get there. We just have to deal with some bad guys first. ****_Disclaimer: I own nothing Batman/DC_**

**...**

Every inch of Ella's body ached. There was a blanket on her, but with the fever raging inside of her, the coolness of the room was welcome. Removing the cover was not really an option, though, since Ella couldn't move any of her limbs. She supposed she could have if she really tried, but the world seemed too fuzzy and heavy to bother.

"Dad," she whispered, wondering where Bruce was. Would he have left her if he knew she was this sick? Maybe he was downstairs with Alfred. "Dad," she tried again, a little louder. It was still too soft to be heard across the room, much less the first floor of the enormous manor.

"Settle down, kid," came a voice. It wasn't Bruce's voice, but Ella couldn't find the energy to care at that moment. "You weren't kidding about being sick," said the voice. "I swear, if you die on me, I will be so screwed. You have no idea how much I owe…never mind. Can you even hear me? Ella? Screw it, I don't have time for this. Rena!"

The voice got farther away, and Ella groaned. Her legs felt hurt so bad that she wanted to scream. Why was she so hot? Oh, yeah. The fever. Things weren't resonating for very long in her brain.

"Okay, babe, let's see what we can do," came another voice. This was a lady. The last one was a man. "Want some water?" asked the voice. "Try to sit up a little." Ella did try and felt a hand support her. Then a plastic cup touched her lips and she drank, finding a wild thirst she had been previously unaware of. "Okay, not so fast!" said the voice. "There we go. Better? Alright, lie back down. Just go back to sleep, and everything will be fine."

Ella didn't need to be told twice.

**…**

"You're a lucky man," said Alfred, placing a bandage on Bruce's chest. "It must have passed between your arm and chest and just nicked your skin."

"Bled like heck," said Bruce, wincing as Alfred cleaned up the wound. "Hurt like it, too. Heh, listen to me. I'm using Ella's words."

"Yes, your language has cleaned up considerably in the past months," nodded Alfred. He looked at Bruce, grave seriousness in his eyes, "Do you think he'll hurt her?"

"I don't know," said Bruce, shifting position on his bed. "I tend to think he won't, but he's wild. A sociopath. Who knows what he'll do? I need to…ah!"

"Bruce, let's call the police," said Alfred, grabbing hold of Bruce as the man squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, pain shooting through his body as he attempted to stand.

"Heh," chuckled Bruce, "you called me Bruce."

"Because I am talking to you not as your butler, but as the man who raised you and loves you and also loves a sweet little girl whose life is in danger," said Alfred, locking eye contact with Bruce with a look that sent chills through the younger man's spine. "You are not putting on that Batman suit, and you are not getting out of this bed. We will call the police and handle this exactly as Ferrera instructed. The only thing that matters right now is getting our little girl back. Do I make myself clear?"

Fear. There was fear in Alfred's eyes, unlike any Bruce had seen there before. He knew his own eyes held the same look. "Yeah," nodded the man, his breath hitching as he lay back on the pillows. "Call the police. Gordon will know what to do. He's come a long way."

"Very good," nodded Alfred, standing and shuffling towards the door. Bruce could tell the older man was mustering all his strength as the sickness still had its grip on him. Dark circles rested below Alfred's eyes, and his skin was pale and cold. The steadfast butler was stronger than Bruce generally gave him credit for.

"Alfred," whispered Bruce.

The butler turned; his dark frame silhouetted in the bedroom door from the light in the hallway.

"I don't care how much it takes," said Bruce, tears forming in his eyes. "Give him anything. Get her back. I can't do it again."

Alfred was still a moment and then nodded. He knew Bruce was thinking of Rachel, and he planned on doing whatever it took to spare his young master that pain. Besides, Alfred was more invested this time. He had cared about Rachel, of course, but as a friend. Ella was much more than that. Legally she was Ella Wayne and Bruce's daughter, but in Alfred's heart, that little girl was just as important to him as Bruce was. "We'll get her back, sir."

**…**

"Vince!" Ella sat bolt upright and looked around the room, breathing heavily. She was drenched in a cold sweat, and her heart was beating so fast she was sure it was going to explode. "Vince, where are you!" She wasn't in Wayne Manor as she had previously thought. Everything was coming back now, and she remembered that Vince had taken her.

"Hush, darling," said a woman, speaking from the corner. It was dimly lit in the room, and Ella couldn't quite make out who was speaking. She recognized the voice as the woman who had given her water.

"Who are you?" she asked, shifting uneasily in the bed.

"Rena," said the woman. Ella saw a shape rise in the darkness and slowly walk toward her. It was a strange walk, almost like a model. The woman's figure was slim and carried with confidence. Finally, the body emerged into the light being cast from a lamp beside the bed. "Irena Dubrovna." Ella looked over this new person and was a bit surprised by what she saw. Irena was quite beautiful with big black eyes and jet black hair, hanging loose below her shoulders. Her lips were a bold red and turned up slightly at the corners. The clothes she wore were tasteful and well-tailored, and she looked exactly like the kind of woman Vince never hung out with.

"Why are you here?" asked Ella.

"Your fever has broken," said Irena, coming closer. She placed a hand on Ella's head and nodded, "Mmhmm. Thank goodness. You had me a little worried there for a while. You are drenched in sweat, though. A shower would do you good, but I doubt Vince will approve. He's a funny sort of man."

"He's insane," said Ella, eyeing Irena carefully.

"I suppose he might be," shrugged Irena. "But everyone is a little insane. Especially the rich daddy of yours. I've heard some truly wild stories about him from the women he keeps company with."

"How?" asked Ella. "Who are you? Why are you with Vince? How do you know anyone my dad knows?"

"It's a long story, and probably too boring for you," sighed Irena, crossing the room and hitting a light switch. The room was illuminated with a yellowish glow, and Ella blinked, adjusting to the brighter atmosphere. She now saw that she was in an ordinary bedroom furnished with a bed, nightstand, dresser, and several houseplants. There were heavy black drapes over the window and a large bolt on the door, but other than that, it could have been any run-of-the-mill apartment bedroom. "Take some of this," said Irena, scooping up a bottle from the dresser and popping the cap off. "Tylenol. Grab that water on the nightstand."

Ella glanced to her right and picked up the cup of water sitting beside her. Irena handed her a few Tylenol, which Ella quickly washed down with the entirety of the cup.

"Great," said Irena, taking the empty plastic cup. "I will go and make you some tea. Fluids are essential. Some soup would be good, too, but who knows if that brother of yours thought to bring any food. I'll be back soon, kid."

Irena left the room, walking with an almost sensuous slink, and Ella heard a bolt slide shut on the other side of the door. Odd to have bolts on both sides of a door. Two could play at that game. Ella jumped from the bed and crossed the room, sliding the inside lock shut as well. The next job was to fling the drapes open, allowing the blinding sunlight to enter the room. Ella closed her eyes and stumbled backward, caught off guard from the sudden blast of light. She had been reasonably sure it was still night and felt somewhat disappointed that she didn't have the cover of darkness to work with. Pushing those thoughts aside, Ella hurried back to the bed and found her shoes sitting by the nightstand. Once she was dressed and had taken a few deep breaths, Ella went back to the window and took a good look at her surroundings.

The window provided a stunning view over a snow-covered lawn that led to a frozen pond. Trees surrounded the area, their branches glinting as the sun hit the icy bark. The drop from the window was no more than five feet, and Ella wasted little time in sliding up the pane and lowering herself to the ground. The cold air enveloped her and she shivered, the sudden change in temperature making her feel faint.

"Probably not the best situation for someone who just had a fever," mumbled Ella, trudging through the ankle-high snow and hurrying around the large, brick house. What she found on the other side rather shocked her, but was just as quickly replaced with a sense of relief.

She was in a housing development. Dozens of other red brick homes dotted the quiet streets, and two or three cars drove slowly by, snow melting from their windows and tops. Ella looked to her right and saw a line of pine trees, which she ran straight into, ignoring the scratches and bites of the sharp branches. Once she was on the other side, she allowed herself to stop and breathe, hoping she was hidden from anyone's view in the house.

"What now?" she whispered. Did she dare go knock on a door and ask for help? If Vince found her, he could very well kill the homeowners, and it would be her fault. Maybe she should just run and see if she could find a town? Housing developments like this were usually close to towns, weren't they? She sighed and shivered, rubbing her hands over her arms. Having never left Gotham City until going to live with Bruce, this sort of area was reasonably unknown to Ella, and she wasn't really sure where to go. Besides that, she was freezing, her shoes were filled with snow, and her chest felt like it was full of sludge.

A police car.

There was a police car parked down the street, the words on the door reading _Sommerset Police_. Sommerset was on the mainland, which meant they hadn't crossed over into the central part of the city. Gathering her courage, Ella ran down the line of trees and hit the sidewalk, keeping a careful eye out for ice and anyone chasing behind her. The police car couldn't be any more than five houses down.

"There you are, silly girl!"

A hand grabbed Ella's arm and spun her around, and was followed instantly by a gun pressing into her side. It was Irena. She had seemingly appeared out of thin air.

"Come on back to the house, honey, you forgot your coat," smiled the woman. She was a good actress, and Ella knew anyone watching would think they were indeed mother and daughter experiencing a typical school morning. "Okay, in we go," nodded Irena, ushering Ella in through the front door of the beautiful brick home. She shut it gently and flipped the lock, then turned, glaring and shaking her head at Ella. "Good try, kid," she said. "I give you credit for being quiet. I had no idea you were gone until I found out your door was locked. Next time you need to remember that snow leaves very obvious footprints. Okay, let's get you back in bed. Outside in the cold is not an ideal place for someone who just battled a 103-degree fever. Also, it is incredibly rude to just leave abruptly after someone offers to make you tea; and I found a can of soup, so we will really have a feast for breakfast. Come into the kitchen. I obviously can't leave you alone anymore. You can go back to bed after you eat."

"I don't want to eat," mumbled Ella, stumbling along behind Irena down a carpeted hall and into a beautiful, updated kitchen. In truth, she was starving and longed to warm up with some tea.

"I don't believe that," said Irena, pulling a chair out from a breakfast table and pushing Ella into it. "Here, have some tea." She set a cup of steaming brown tea in front of Ella and then started opening cupboards and drawers. "There must be a pot or something here to heat up the soup. Ah, this will do."

Ella watched as the woman moved around the kitchen, her feet barely touching the ground as she moved. There was something almost…catlike about her. "Who are you really?" asked Ella. "Are you an acrobat, too? Is that how you met Vince?"

"No," said Irena, finding a can opener in a drawer. "That's not how I met Vince. I hope you like chicken noodle soup. Is there anyone that doesn't like it? How is your tea?"

"Fine," said Ella, never taking her eyes off the woman, the tea was forgotten at her side. "Where is Vince?"

"Business," replied Irena, turning on the gas burner. "Things are going well. You should be back home by tomorrow morning. For the record, I hear reports that Bruce Wayne was shot by an intruder, but it only grazed the skin."

Relief flooded over Ella's body, and she let out a deep breath. "Thank goodness," she muttered, picking up the cup and inhaling the scent of the tea. It ashamed her a little that she hadn't given much thought to Bruce or Alfred since waking up. She had been so focused on escaping that she had almost forgotten about the visions of a blood-soaked Bruce she had been plagued with during her fever. The tea tasted bitter but warmed her insides, and she drank another sip.

A door banged somewhere in the house, and a minute later, Vince entered the kitchen, throwing his car keys on the counter. "I see you decided to wake up," he said, crossing the kitchen and putting his arms around Irena.

"Oh, we aren't that friendly yet," she smirked, pushing him off and grabbing a spoon to stir the soup.

Vince grinned at her then walked over to sit beside Ella at the table, "How you feeling? I don't have much experience with kids and sickness and all that. Thank goodness Irena was available."

"More like itching to even us up," replied Irena, turning the stove down a notch. "After this, I owe you nothing, Ferrera."

"Oh, hush," said Vince, stretching his arms and yawning. "Gosh, I'm tired. Keep the kid quiet, will you? I'm going to bed. Everything is running smoothly and should be done by tomorrow night. Say what's with the cop down the street?" He pulled a gun from his jacket pocket as he spoke and twirled it absentmindedly on his finger.

"It's nothing," replied Irena. "He's just speed checking cars that come around that bend too quickly."

"Good," nodded, Vince, pushing his chair back and standing up. He slid the gun into the back of his pants and kicked the chair back in. "I'm off." He left the kitchen, his heavy footsteps pounding on an unseen staircase, leaving Irena and Ella alone again.

"Your brother is a unique person," said Irena, rolling her eyes as she turned the stove off. "Let's just say I hope to be free of him after this little arrangement."

"What arrangement?" asked Ella. She sipped her tea again. "He asked you to come here?"

"You heard him," said Irena, pulling bowls from a cupboard. "I owed him one and he doesn't know how to take care of sick kids."

"I'm not really a kid," said Ella.

"You are a kid," smiled Irena, using the flat spoon to awkwardly ladle soup into the bowls. She gave up and poured it straight from the pot. "But that's not a bad thing. Believe me, your brother would be treating you much harsher if you were older than you are. He's not someone to be messed with."

"I know," said Ella, watching as Irena set a bowl of soup in front of her and then sank into the chair Vince had just used. "He shot my dad."

"And I've already told you Mr. Wayne is fine," said Irena, dipping her spoon into the mixture of broth and noodles. "How about you eat your soup and think about going home. You'll be back before you know it."

Ella set her tea down and glared back and forth between Irena and the soup. Part of her wanted to refuse to eat, but another part – the bigger part – was absolutely starving. Hunger took over and she picked up her spoon, indulging in the delicious hot broth. She ate half the bowl before setting her spoon down and sighing, "It's not as good as Alfred's."

"Who is Alfred?" asked Irena, going back to the stove for seconds.

"Our butler," replied Ella, spinning the spoon around in the bowl. "He's like a grandpa to me."

"Your butler cooks for you?" smirked Irena. "Can't Mr. Wayne afford a cook?"

"Dad doesn't like a lot of people around," said Ella, watching her words carefully so as not to say anything suspicious. "He's a very private person."

"Is that why he goes swimming in hotel fountains and vacationing with entire ballets?" teased Irena, returning to her seat.

"How did you know that? And that's just for show," said Ella, glaring at Irena. "He's got a company to run and he wants people to like him, I guess. I don't know. He's not like that at home. And he hasn't really done any of that stuff since I moved in."

"You grounded him," said Irena.

Ella looked up and narrowed her eyes. "What?"

"You grounded him," repeated the woman. "He was alone and floundering. You gave him something to focus on. He must love you very much."

Ella was taken back by the sincerity of Irena's words, and she gave her a quizzical look, tilting her head to one side. It had never occurred to her that she had given Bruce mental solidification like that, but it didn't sound all that far-fetched.

"You look tired," said Irena. "Finish eating so we can go back to bed. What I mean is, _I'm_ tired. And I can't leave you alone so we need to figure out a plan so I can get some sleep. Hurry up while I do these dishes."

Ella took another bite of soup and watched Irena curiously. She was a lot kinder than one would expect a criminal to be, but that didn't give Ella any reason to trust her. She was, after all, helping Vince. But Irena's eyes had a look that made Ella want to tell her anything and everything. She couldn't quite explain why, but Ella didn't want to be separated from the mysterious woman until it was time to go back home. Irena made her feel safe, and that was a feeling Ella desperately missed from the warmth of Bruce's care.

**…**

The pain in his knee was almost blinding him, but Bruce focused his gaze on the windows of the house across the street, searching for any movement. He winced as he changed positions, and his suit pressed against the wound on his chest. It was nearly midnight, and he expected Vince Ferrera to leave any minute to get the money. Of course, Bruce had provided him with fully marked bills and complete support of the Gotham City police's plan, but that hadn't stopped him from donning the suit and coming to work out the problem for himself.

Alfred didn't know, of course. Bruce had woken up that afternoon feeling a little stronger than before and had quietly slipped straight down to the cave, powered by a crazy amount of medication and an energy shot. Bruce gave himself a couple more hours at the most before he lost his drive, and smacked the wheel of the Tumbler impatiently. It had taken him nearly an hour to track Vince to this house, and another twenty minutes to drive there. Using the darkness as his cover, he had backed the Tumbler up beside a line of trees where he still had a view of the house, but no one could easily spot the strange vehicle in the quiet, upscale neighborhood.

"Gotcha," whispered Bruce as he saw a car back out of the driveway. The police would do their job after Ferrera picked up the money. Bruce's only goal now was to get his daughter back. Climbing out of the Tumbler, Bruce limped across the snowy yard and circled the house, finding a backdoor leading to a dimly lit kitchen. The doorknob was locked, but he had it open in a few seconds and quietly entered the house, checking his surroundings carefully.

Footsteps sounded above him, and he slipped through a nearby doorway, finding stairs to his right. Ascending them as quickly as possible, he floated through the shadows down a narrow hallway towards a closed door with light streaming out below it. Voices came from inside and he felt his heart speed up when he recognized Ella's low tones. The other voice was a woman's and he could not place it. A second later, the door opened and a tall, thin woman left, closing it behind her and walking the opposite direction. Bruce froze, not even breathing, and it seemed he went unnoticed in the darkness.

Hurrying down the rest of the hall, he silently pushed the door open and slid into the room.

"Dad!" gasped Ella, sitting across from him on a queen-sized bed.

Seconds later, the two were wrapped in each other's embrace, Ella crying into Bruce's shoulder while he held her tightly against his chest, emotions flooding over him.

"Dad, you came for me!" whispered Ella, the tears flowing freely as relief flooded her veins. It wasn't incredibly comfortable to be pressed against the Batsuit, but that was the last thing she was thinking about right now. "I was so scared, Dad. I thought I'd never see you again."

"You're safe," mumbled Bruce, his voice low and husky. "You don't know me." Ella knew what he meant. She shouldn't call him Dad in case they were found, and someone guessed his identity. "Let's go," said Bruce, taking her hand. He turned to go back out the door but instead came face-to-face with a tall, masked woman.

"Hello, Mr. Wayne," said Irena, now dressed in a skin-tight leather suit with a black mask covering half her face. "I never would have guessed it was you. A billionaire who spends his time ridding Gotham of its greatest criminals? Truly, an interesting hobby." A gun was in Irena's hand, aimed directly at Bruce's face. "I suppose you have someone picking Vince up? The Batman isn't known for leaving loose ends. Tell me, Ella, did you know your daddy was Batman?"

"Who are you?" asked Bruce, his voice still low.

"My name is Selina Kyle, but I try other ones out for fun sometimes," she shrugged. "There is a lot about me and no time to give you a full history, so believe me when I tell you this: Vince Ferrera will escape whatever plan you have, as I'm sure it involves the police and he knows a trap when he sees one. Your best bet is to go and cut him off now. I suppose you won't kill him, though. No worries, I can handle that bit."

"Who do you work for?" asked Bruce, pulling Ella closer and slightly behind him.

"I work for no one," said Irena, smiling. "But Vince has recently covered up some bad behavior of mine, and I took care of Ella to even us up, as well as some other things we won't talk about in front of a kid. Look, I know you don't trust me, but believe me when I say you can. Do exactly what I say and Vince will never bother you again; I'll be on my way out of Gotham forever, and you can take your kid back home safe and sound. Do we have a deal?"

Ella gripped Bruce's gloved hand tightly and felt him move slightly as if he were about to fall over. He took a shaky breath and steadied himself with the support of the dresser beside him. "I don't think so," he said. "If you know what's good for you, you'll give me that gun and come with us. I can personally get you into the most comfortable cell in Blackgate Prison."

"Not exactly how I envisioned this ending, but it will have to do," sighed Irena. She pulled the trigger, and a dart imbedded itself in Bruce's cheek. He yelped and pulled it out, but dropped to the ground within seconds, completely unconscious.

"Dad, no!" shrieked Ella, dropping down beside him.

Irena walked over and knelt down, beginning to remove the cowl from Bruce's face. "Don't worry, he's fine," she said calmly. "He'll be asleep for a while, though. Help me get him out of this costume. I saw his…whatever that thing is he drives…parked across the lawn. Do what I say, and you'll be home before morning." She stopped, Bruce's cowl in one hand, and his head supported with her other and looked directly at Ella. "Do you trust me?"

Ella looked back, searching Irena's…or was it Selina's?...big, dark eyes.

"Yes," she nodded. And she really did.

**…**

**Thank you so, so, so much for reading! Your reviews mean the world and I am glad people enjoy this story! Let me know what you thought of this chapter and thanks a million times over for taking the time to read!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Hey, guys! Thank you for all your amazing reviews! I don't know why, but this chapter was really hard to write. I redid it three times. Hopefully it came out somewhat decently!**

**...**

"How are we all supposed to fit in this thing?" asked Ella, straining to hold up Bruce's weight. Selina was piling Bruce's gear behind the seats into a fold-down compartment.

"Make do," replied Selina, reaching back to help with Bruce. It took a lot of grunting and straining, but they finally managed to maneuver the unconscious man into the passenger seat. Selina stood up and stretched her back, then sighed, "Okay. Make yourself fit. I'm driving." Ella stared at the minimal amount of space between Bruce and the dashboard and raised an eyebrow. This was not going to be a fun ride.

Once the roof had closed, and the Tumbler was barreling down the road after Vince, Ella grunted and groaned, shifting to face Selina and tried to comfortably situate herself at Bruce's feet. "Tell me what's going on," she said. "Why did you take off Bruce's suit? What if everyone sees him in here? They would logically insinuate that Bruce is Batman."

"No one will insinuate anything," said Selina, shifting gears and whipping the vehicle around a corner. Ella groaned when her shoulder was rammed into something hard to her right. Selina ran her eyes over the dash and took mental notes of what weaponry was available to her. "He won't use guns, but he drives an actual armory. Doesn't he realize his life would be easier if he just shot a few people?"

"I know nothing," replied Ella. "I didn't even know he was Batman until a couple months ago. He's only gone out on patrol a few times since then. Why doesn't he use guns? I know hardly anything about Batman."

"Sounds like he's really opened up to you," said Selina.

Ella frowned at the sarcastic comment, "Yes, he has. Just not about Batman. Bruce is a person. He has a life apart from fighting bad guys."

"And wouldn't he instantly stop whatever he was doing if Gotham needed him?" asked Selina, taking another sharp turn. Ella's shoulder would be bruised before this was over.

"Well, maybe," shrugged Ella. "Like I said, he hasn't been Batman very often since I moved in. He got hurt and has been recovering."

"I think he needed a little longer," surmised Selina, casting a quick glance at the sleeping Bruce.

"You're the one that knocked him out," shot back Ella.

"He was on his way down," replied Selina. "The man could barely stand. I did him a favor and gave him a nap. Now do exactly what I say. That's Vince's car up ahead. Don't speak unless I ask you a question. Hold tight."

The Tumbler shot forward and spun into a half-circle, grinding to a halt facing Vince's sports car. Ella could see nothing from her spot on the ground, but she could hear the squeal of Vince's brakes as he tried to stop.

"Stay," hissed Selina as she crawled from the Tumbler, closing the top behind her.

"Bruce, wake up," whimpered Ella, twisting to face her father and shaking him. "Come on, Bruce! They'll find out who you are! Wake up!"

Bruce responded with a deep moan, but his eyes stayed closed. Ella growled and began looking around the dash for a communication device. There had to be a way to contact Alfred from inside this thing. Maybe a button labeled 'Batcave'? Ella smirked despite herself. The first time she had heard Bruce say Batcave, she had almost laughed at how ridiculous the name sounded. Bruce had seemed irked by her reaction and hadn't used the term again since. Suddenly, flashing lights lit up the inside of the Tumbler, and sirens filled the air.

"He's in the car with the girl!" came Selina's muffled voice from outside. Seconds later, the top opened, and a man sporting a large mustache and worried-looking eyes peered inside.

"Hi, kid," he nodded, reaching a hand down to Ella. "Don't worry, I'm Commissioner Gordon of the GCPD. You're safe, now." Ella nervously took his hand and crawled out of the Tumbler, getting a look around her surroundings for the first time. They were in a vast, open space that struck Ella as a sort of airfield or military base. She wasn't sure which one, but it gave off official vibes. Vince's car was sitting just fifty feet away, and he was bent over the hood while an officer handcuffed him.

"I'll be right back," came Selina's voice from Ella's left. The woman was standing on the opposite side of the Tumbler and now began walking towards Vince.

"Your dad's going to be just fine," said Gordon, putting a hand on Ella's shoulder. He chuckled as he assessed the shivering girl. "You look cold, kid. Here." He removed his jacket and put it around Ella's shoulders. "There we go. Here, stand aside." Gordon maneuvered Ella away from the Tumbler as medical units moved in to take care of Bruce. He began to lead her away from the scene, but Ella pulled against his grip and shook her head.

"No! Wait! Bruce, no!" she cried. Her heart rate soared, and she watched, terrified, as medical personnel lifted Bruce from the car.

"Hey, hey, it's okay!" said Gordon, holding her tightly and placing a compassionate hand on her back. "They are going to take good care of him. How about you come over and sit down?"

Sitting down sounded rather nice to Ella, especially if it was on a seat that provided legroom and didn't hold the possibility of smashing against a dashboard. Her legs suddenly felt very shaky and she allowed Gordon to support her weight as they walked towards his car. Once she was sitting sideways in the passenger seat, a shock blanket thrown around her shoulders, Ella's mind was flooded with questions, but she kept her mouth shut, remembering Selina's order.

"It'll be alright," promised Gordon, crouching down in front of her. "Don't worry. Are you warm enough…hey, what the…?" He stood and bolted away, and Ella stood up to see what had alarmed the commissioner. The blanket dropped from her shoulders, and she stepped around the car just in time to see the Tumbler barreling away. There was no sign of Selina or Vince.

"I…, I don't know what happened!" cried a young police officer, waving his arms as he talked to the Commissioner.

Ella gasped and raced towards the ambulance, but her fears were stilled when she saw Bruce was still there. He lay on a stretcher with an oxygen mask strapped over his face, and two men were lifting him into the vehicle.

"Hey there, kid," came a friendly voice. A big hand grabbed Ella's arm and turned her around. She found herself face-to-face with a smiling policeman whose nametag read J.S. Cooper. "Don't worry about your dad. He'll be fine. There is someone over here who wants to see you." Ella was barely aware as Officer Cooper led her away from the ambulance, and it wasn't until they were well away from the large group of first responders that Ella turned and saw where they were headed.

"Alfred!" she cried, breaking free of Cooper's hand and running across the ground directly into the arms of the loving butler.

"Oh, my girl," whispered Alfred, holding her tightly to his chest.

"Alfred," sobbed Ella, tears overwhelming her as she melted in his embrace.

"Officer," said Alfred, looking up at Cooper, "please send some of the paramedics over. This child is burning with fever."

"Right away, sir," nodded Cooper, turning and jogging towards the group of ambulances.

"I'm fine, Alfred," whimpered Ella, her cheeks soaked with tears. "Let them help Bruce."

"There are more than enough people to help Master Wayne," said Alfred, running his hand through the girl's hair. "Let's not neglect our own selves, hm? Are you hurt in any way?"

"No, sir," hiccupped Ella, gripping the butler's shirt tightly in her fists as she cried into his chest. She was barely aware of hands pulling her free of Alfred's grip and helping her onto a stretcher. Alfred's hand grasped hers and hurried along beside the group as they went back to the ambulance, his voice assuring her everything would be alright.

**… **

"Checkmate," said Ella, planting her queen firmly on the chessboard.

"Hm. You must have cheated," said Alfred, furrowing his brow as he studied the chess pieces.

"Bruce taught me well," smirked Ella, shifting in her bed. It was her second day in the hospital, and the doctors had promised she could go home the next morning if all looked well. Hospitals, Ella had found, were incredibly dull places to be stuck, and this was the third chess game of the day. Several police officers, including Commissioner Gordon, had been in to talk to her, but not before Alfred prepped her on what to say without giving away Bruce's secret.

"Well, since I can't seem to beat you, how about we take a little break and go down to visit Master Wayne?" suggested Alfred.

"Can we!" cried Ella, her eyes lighting up. They had been told to let the man rest for the morning, and it had been torturous to stay away from him.

"I think he would rather us be with him," nodded Alfred, moving the chessboard to the side. "Come on, love." He handed Ella her shoes and pulled his suit coat on as the girl got ready to go. "For someone who has just recovered from the flu, you have more energy than a sugared-up toddler."

"Well, you did give me sugar this morning," said Ella, jumping up from the bed that the nurses had insisted she stay resting in.

"Don't tell anyone," smiled Alfred, taking Ella's hand in his.

They hurried through the walk to Bruce's room and entered just as a nurse was leaving. "He's awake," she smiled, stepping aside so they could pass through.

"Bruce!" cried Ella, breaking away from Alfred and hurrying into the room. She went straight to the side of his bed and dropped down, taking his hand in hers.

"Hiya, missy," he smiled, slowly turning his head to face his daughter. Alfred settled himself on the other side of the bed and looked lovingly at the two people that meant the most to him in the world.

"How are you feeling, Master Wayne?" he asked.

"Been better," said Bruce, shifting his eyes toward Alfred. He was obviously weak, and his skin was pale and cold. "Thanks to you two, I have been diagnosed with the flu. That's what I get for dedicating myself to your beck and call for two days."

"Not to mention a gunshot wound," said Alfred, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, that smarts a bit," chuckled Bruce. "I tell you what, though, my knee is in bad shape. Hurts like crazy."

"I told you to use the crutches longer," admonished Alfred, shaking his head. "It's catching up with you."

"Hey." A woman's voice caused all three to look up and see a tall, beautiful woman with her dark hair pulled back into a tight ponytail.

"Selina!" gasped Ella.

"Let's keep that quiet," smiled Selina, approaching the bed. "I've only got a few minutes. My plane leaves at three. Just thought I'd let you know the armory is back in your cave."

"Armory?" asked Bruce.

"The Tumbler," translated Ella, remembering Selina's comments on the weaponry of the car.

"Your costume is in the built-in cupboard," said Selina, crossing her arms.

"It's a suit," mumbled Bruce. "Storage compartment."

"And Vince Ferrera won't be bothering you anymore," said the woman, raising an eyebrow. "He won't be bothering anyone ever again."

"What do you mean?" asked Ella, standing up and turning to face Selina straight on.

"He's dead," shrugged Selina.

The news floored Ella. She dropped into the chair beside Bruce's bed and took a shaky breath. Alfred hurried around the bed to see to her, and Selina came closer to Bruce.

"Batman did a wonderful job rounding up the other members of Ferrera's gang while the Cat rescued Bruce Wayne and his daughter from the murderous Detective," she said, smiling seductively at Bruce. "Many thanks to him for letting me use his car while he battled the bad guys in another part of the city."

"Who are you?" asked Bruce.

"I can't miss my plane," said Selina, turning and walking towards the door. "It was nice to meet you, Ella."

And, as mysteriously as a cat, Selina Kyle was gone.

"Dead," whispered Ella. "He's dead." Alfred pulled Ella into his arms and held her close, sharing a knowing look with Bruce. The last link to the girl's past was now gone, and it was overwhelming for her.

"Are you alright, love?" asked Alfred, patting her back.

Ella was silent a minute but slowly nodded her head, pushing back from Alfred's arm, "Yes, sir. I'm…relieved. I was so scared he would hurt us, and he did. But we're still here."

"Takes more than that to get me down," chuckled Bruce, reaching over to cover Ella's hand with his own.

"Do you think she was telling the truth?" asked Ella, looking straight into Bruce's eyes. "Do you think my brother is dead?"

"I don't know much about Miss Kyle," said Bruce, "but I tend to believe her."

Ella sighed and nodded, "Okay. I'm not sure how I feel, but I think its relief."

"Alfred, maybe you better take her back to bed," said Bruce quietly.

"No!" cried Ella, "Bruce, I wanna stay with you!"

"Alright," chuckled Bruce. "You can stay."

Alfred maneuvered Ella out of the chair then sat down, pulling the girl onto his lap. "I think we should all just relax for a while," he said.

"I could relax for a week," said Bruce. "And I am looking forward to getting out of this hospital as soon as possible."

"I think we can all agree on that," chuckled Alfred, holding Ella close. "But a little medical attention more experienced than me won't hurt anybody."

"Ugh, hospitals," muttered Bruce.

"I agree," said Ella, trying to block the memory of her brother from her mind. The sudden announcement of his death had shocked her, but she had to admit the relief she felt was more significant than her astonishment.

"At least we are all together," said Alfred, smiling at his young master. "The three of us."

"Yeah," smiled Bruce, his hand still holding Ella's. "The three of us together."

"The three of us together," nodded Ella, leaning back against Alfred's shoulder. And for the first time in her life, Ella felt completely safe.

**…**

**Finally, we are rid of the *whispers* ****_bad guys_****. Now...NOW...it's time for cuteness.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Here is the next chapter! Thanks for reading! Also, warning Bruce swats Ella a couple of times as punishment in this chapter, so careful if that isn't the sort of thing you care to read. Nothing explicit or intense. ****_Disclaimer: I own nothing Batman/DC_**

**...**

"It's March 13th," said Ella.

"Excellent. You know the date," said Alfred, standing from Bruce's desk chair and scooping up the stack of books before him. He went to the bookcase and began putting the volumes away in their respective places.

"So that means I have four days," whined Ella, narrowing her eyes.

Alfred knelt down, sliding the final book into its spot and sighed, "Yes. Four days left out of the fourteen you started with. It was your own choice to put it off this long."

"We were busy!" shot back Ella. "How was I supposed to write a book report while driving back and forth to the hospital all the time?"

"Watch your tone," warned Alfred, pointing his finger at the girl and giving her a meaningful look.

Ella blushed and sunk into her chair on the opposite side of the desk, "Sorry, sir."

Alfred sighed again and gazed down at the girl. "Now, come on, darling," he said, his tone softening. "How about you move to Bruce's chair and spend an hour writing. Just an hour, alright? You'll be surprised how much you can get down. I'll go and check on Master Wayne."

Ella stood and pushed her notebook, pen, and a leather-bound copy of _To Kill a Mockingbird_ to the opposite side of the desk. She had finished reading it only two days after Alfred had informed her that she would be writing a book report on it, and had spent the next week and a half procrastinating the actual report.

"This is the only schooling you've had for almost a month," said Alfred, holding the desk chair as Ella dropped into it, and then sliding it in closer to the desk. "I know you've got a lot of brainpower stored in this hard head." He tapped her head as he spoke. "Show me what ideas you've got locked up in there."

"Two whole pages," groaned Ella, picking up her pencil.

"I know you can do it," called Alfred, already on his way out the study door.

Ella groaned and let her head drop onto the desk. "I don't want to do this. I don't want to do this. I don't want to do this," she whispered, kicking her shoes against the sides of the desk. "I should be checking on Bruce, too. Do Jem and Scout matter more than my father?" She felt a strange jolt in her stomach, and she sighed. Her father. She hadn't called him Dad since…well, since he had been dropped unconscious by Selina Kyle. She wasn't sure what had happened. During the chaos of Selina taking the Tumbler, the GCPD showing up, being hospitalized, and learning of Vince's death, she had simply stopped calling him Dad. In fact, she had purposefully been avoiding using any name when she spoke to him, greeting him instead with a smile and a hello.

Ella didn't know it, but Bruce had noticed the absence of fatherly titles. It had brought him an incredible joy to hear his girl call him Dad, and it was apparent to him that she hadn't said the name in weeks. In fact, Ella had called him merely Bruce for a few days in the hospital. At first, he had accepted it as a fluke due to the confusion of all that had taken place, but when she stopped calling him anything, he began to wonder what was going on.

Ella kicked the chair back and stood, dropping her pencil onto the desk and ran across the room. She pulled the door open and looked out, making sure Alfred was nowhere around. A plan was not precisely what Ella would call the idea formulating in her head, but her emotions had the better of her, just as they had for the past several weeks, and she didn't stop to think as she hurried across two halls and into an open gallery. Beautiful carvings decorated the walls and an ornate ceiling stretched overhead. The floor was a brown and white tile and lead to an enormous fireplace opposite of Ella. The room was truly breathtaking, but it was not a place Ella spent very much time. In fact, she had only been through it several times before, but her eye had always been drawn to the four stands in each corner of the room holding intricately designed vases.

It took her only a second to reach the nearest one, and she rested her hand on it, ignoring the shaking in her arm. "Why?" she said out loud. It surprised Ella to hear her own voice, but her heart knew the answer to the question. She was going to break the vase and the reason was so that Bruce would be angry at her. Ella wanted Alfred to drag her through the halls to Bruce's room and inform him what she had done. Ella wanted Bruce to be confused and yell at her and she wanted to yell back. She wanted to be grounded for a month or sent to her room without supper. It wasn't right that Bruce was so kind. He had been shot and, apart from that, the old injury to his knee was bothering him badly and he needed a cane to walk.

The hospital had released him just two days before, and Bruce had spent much of that time asleep. He was still frail, and with the pain in his knee found it easier to remain in his room. Yet through it all, Bruce had remained gentle and loving with his daughter. He had spent long hours talking about everything that had happened to her, making sure she was alright. Vince's death particularly worried Bruce, and he had done whatever he could to make sure Ella was emotionally secure after the news.

And it confused Ella to her very core.

How could Bruce have gone through so much pain and trouble and still love her? He had been shot, knocked unconscious, and battled a terrible bout of pneumonia in the hospital that had overtaken him the day after Ella was released.

"It was all my fault," said Ella, her hand still on the vase. "None of that would have happened to him if it wasn't for me."

So why was she breaking the vase? Ella pushed the rational questions from her head and growled. Break the vase. She was going to break the vase and snap Bruce out of this gentle spirit. Just push it. Just push the vase, and gravity will do the rest. A single shove was all it would take. One finger could do the job.

Ella pushed.

She closed her eyes as the vase shattered, millions of pieces scattering instantly across the tile floor. It echoed loudly through the room, and Ella swore it had to have been heard through the entire manor. For a few seconds, she didn't move at all, but finally, she turned and left the room, deciding to go back to the study.

"What on earth was that?" came Alfred's voice.

Ella spun on her heel as she left the room and saw Alfred at the end of the hall, walking towards her.

"Ella, are you alright, darling?" he asked, looking genuinely confused.

"I broke it," said Ella, staring at Alfred, unsure of what on earth she was even trying to accomplish.

"You broke it?" asked Alfred, stepping around her and peering into the room. "Oh…well…I, oh, that's alright, dear. We'll get it cleaned up. No harm is done."

"I wanted to break it," said Ella, realizing Alfred thought it was an accident.

He stopped and turned to face her, "What's that?"

"I broke it on purpose," said Ella.

Alfred looked genuinely confused, "You…well, why on earth did you do that?"

"Because I felt like it," shrugged Ella. "I didn't want to write that stupid report. So, I…broke the vase."

Alfred stared at Ella.

Ella stared at Alfred.

"Alright, bye," said Ella, turning and running as fast as she could down the hall. Alfred called after her, but she ignored him and pressed on towards Bruce's bedroom. Why was she heading to Bruce's room? She honestly did not know. It was as if someone else was entirely in control of Ella's mind, and making her do weird things that she didn't really want to.

Ella knew who it was, too. It was the _old _Ella. It was the Ella that had purposefully made her foster parents' lives miserable so she would be sent back to the children's home because she was tired of getting beaten by drunken dads and screamed at by stressed-out moms. But why now? Why was old Ella taking over seven months after moving in with the kindest caretakers she could possibly have imagined?

"Idiot!" hissed Ella as she ran. "Why are you such a total moron?"

She was at Bruce's door now.

"Bruce!" she yelled, pounding her fist against the door.

"Ella?" came Bruce's voice from inside.

She threw the door open and stormed in. "Bruce, I broke a vase," she said. "A vase in that one big room with nothing in it but vases. It's a stupid room. I wanted to break it. I did it on purpose. Alfred is making me write a dumb book report, and I don't want to. And I want you to stop being so nice to me. None of my foster parents were ever nice to me. This is ridiculous." Ella slammed the door closed and crossed the room to Bruce's bed.

The man was sitting upright, his lower half covered by blankets and his back propped up by pillows. A book was in one hand, a glass of water in the other, and a confused look graced his face.

Ella stopped at the end of his bed and kicked the frame, "Yell at me! Make me go to my room! Stop being fake!"

"Fake?" asked Bruce, setting his water down. "What on earth is wrong with you, Ella?"

"I don't know!" yelled Ella and promptly dropped to the floor. She rested her back against the bed and pulled her knees close, hiding her face.

"Ella," came Bruce's voice. Ella could hear him grunting as he struggled to stand, and a few seconds later, his hand was on her shoulder. "Hey, sweetheart," he said, slowly lowering himself down beside her. "Ella, what's going on?"

Bruce's strong arms wrapped around Ella and pulled her close, but she stayed stiff and ignored his embrace.

The door swung open, and Alfred's voice rang out, "Ella, wh…oh, dear."

"It's alright, Alfred," said Bruce, looking up. "I've got this."

"Of course, sir," nodded Alfred, stepping back and closing the door behind him.

"He'll be mad, too," said Ella, her voice muffled in her arms.

"Ella, hey, it's alright," soothed Bruce. He had no idea what was going on, but he knew it probably had something to do with Ella's strange attitude over the past few weeks.

"Let me go," snapped Ella, pulling free of Bruce's hug and scrambling to her feet. "I'm sick of doing whatever everyone says."

"Hey, missy," said Bruce, his voice strained as he struggled to stand up, "you aren't making any sense. Are you feeling alright?"

"Yes," said Ella, stomping across the room to the window. She pushed the curtain all way aside and placed her palms against the glass, staring out over the lawn. "Just do it."

"Just do what?" asked Bruce, limping towards her.

"Punish me!" cried Ella, spinning to face him. "You are so dense!" She stepped towards him and landed a hard smack to his left shoulder.

"Hey!" said Bruce. "Say, what on earth is wrong with you?"

"I can't believe how hard this is," said Ella, staring at Bruce in a state of confusion. She had fully expected him to explode in a rage by now and send her to her room, or at least lecture her sternly. "How are you too stupid to understand that I'm bad? You're an idiot!" The last word was accentuated by another solid smack, this time to Bruce's right shoulder; the gunshot side.

"Ah!" cried Bruce, stumbling backward and grimacing from the sharp pain that shot through his arm. He glared at Ella and, in a flash, had wrapped his hand around her left arm and pulled her close to his side. Before either of them knew what was happening, Bruce had landed four hard smacks on Ella's bottom and then held her with both hands at arm's length. "Now, that is enough of that!" he said sternly.

Ella stared at him, shocked by the sudden turn of events.

"Now, I don't know why you've been acting so funny for the past few weeks," said Bruce, relieved he seemed to have her attention, "but it's time to snap out of it. If this is about your brother, then you need to tell me, and we can get help. There is nothing to be ashamed of if you're upset. But you aren't going to go around yelling and hitting people. No more, young lady. Do you understand me? I love you too much to let you act like this."

"Yes, Dad," whispered Ella, her chest heaving as she stared up at him.

Bruce's face softened, and he relaxed slightly from his tense position. "Okay," he nodded, his heart swelling at hearing the name Dad again. "Okay, missy. Come here. Let's sit down."

"Dad," whispered Ella, her feet staying firmly where she was as Bruce tried to lead her towards the bed. "Dad, I…" she stopped and fell forward into his arms, sobs overwhelming her.

"Okay, okay, it's alright," soothed Bruce, pulling his daughter close. "Ssh, it's alright, missy. Hey, hey, now." He leaned down, kissing her head gently and shushing her gently, "It's alright, missy. Hey, sweetheart." His calming voice continued to mutter terms of endearment as he turned and awkwardly pulled Ella towards the bed. Slowly dropping down, with a grimace as pain shot through his knee, Bruce cradled Ella in his arms as she wept.

"Dad!" sobbed Ella, barely able to say anything more through her tears.

"I'm here, missy," said Bruce. "It's okay."

They sat for almost five minutes as Ella cried, but eventually, Bruce grew stiff and groaned as he shifted. "El," he mumbled. Ella sensed that he was uncomfortable and pulled away as he switched his position. "It's alright, kiddo," said Bruce, holding his arm out again.

"No," she whispered, standing up and brushing at the stray tears on her cheeks. "It's not. I'm sorry. I've been a jerk."

"Ella, come here," said Bruce, wanting to stand and go to her, but unable to move. His knee had locked up, and the pain was incredible.

"I don't know why I did that," sniffed Ella, pushing some stray curls back from her face. "All of that. I'm sorry I broke the vase." She felt strangely free, at least freer than she had ten minutes before. "I don't really…I was dumb. I knew I shouldn't do it but I wanted your attention. I guess I wanted to see what you'd do if…"

"If I was pushed to the edge?" offered Bruce, starting to understand.

Ella shrugged, "Yeah. I guess. Wasn't really expecting that."

"That?" asked Bruce, raising an eyebrow.

"The…you whacked me," said Ella, blushing.

"Yeah, I did," nodded Bruce, somewhat surprised at himself. Alfred had spanked him growing up, but he had never envisioned using that form of discipline on his own children. The reaction to spank Ella had shocked him, and he was a little nervous about how she would respond.

"No one's ever done that," Ella sighed, focusing on her shoe as it traced a line on the carpet. "Spanked me, I mean. I've gotten beat a lot but always on my arms or face."

"Ah," said Bruce, feeling unsure of how to proceed and waiting for Ella to continue.

"So, you still love me and all?" asked Ella, wanting to turn and face Bruce but feeling quite ashamed at her actions.

"Still love you?" chuckled Bruce. "Well, I should say so. It'll take more than breaking a vase to make me not love you. Actually, I don't think anything could make me not love you."

Ella turned and made eye contact with Bruce. His gaze said it all. "You love me," whispered Ella. "I love you, too."

Bruce sighed and leaned back against his pillows, "Come here, missy. Sit down."

Ella obeyed, sinking down at the end of the bed so she could face Bruce.

"This is the story, kid," said Bruce. "You've been through a lot. You've been through more than anyone should ever have to go through. You've been treated wrongly, and you deserved none of it. That's all in the past. You are safe here. Well…" Bruce blushed, "relatively. Obviously, not when people come in and kidnap…"

"I know," interrupted Ella. "I knew, but I was all weird in my head and I don't know why I did it but suddenly I needed to prove it and…" Her words died off and she sighed.

"Yeah," smiled Bruce.

Ella groaned and covered her face, "Oh, I'm sorry, Dad! I am so horrible! I doubted you!"

"Ella," said Bruce, his voice firm and smooth. "You didn't doubt me. You just deepened your confirmation, eh?"

Ella looked up, meeting Bruce's eyes, and made a face. "Don't stick up for my stupidity, Dad," she said. "Let me wallow in my pain."

Bruce smirked, "Nah. I'm too great of a father for that. Come here, missy."

Ella scrambled up the bed and snuggled up to Bruce's side, staying mindful of his sore body, but wrapping her arms around his stomach as she longed for the physical touch. Everything inside of her felt wildly different than it had before, and the thought of her actions confused her. How could she have ever thought that Bruce would treat her like the foster families? This was Bruce! The man that had taken her in when no one else wanted her, taken an honest interest in the furthering of her mind through education, provided for her every need, given her his family name, and risked his life to get her back. Of course, he loved her.

"I think it wouldn't hurt to talk to a therapist," said Bruce, tenderly running his fingers through one of Ella's curls. It got tangled and he groaned, "Eh, how do you deal with this hair?"

"I just do absolutely nothing and hope for the best," shrugged Ella. "Therapists are for kids who exhibit hostile or psychotic behavior."

"Now, where did you hear that?" asked Bruce.

"It's on a paper tacked to the wall by the main desk at the children's home," replied Ella. "If a child exhibits hostile or psychotic behavior, contact a therapist as there may have been past abuse in the home. Or something like that. I was in the office a lot, and I would read the posters while I waited to get yelled at."

"Therapists are not solely for hostile and psychotic people," said Bruce. "Can you move to the left a little? Yeah, that's better. Okay, you can put your head down again. Sorry, my knee was in a weird spot. Okay, so get this. I've had a therapist."

"Alfred?" asked Ella.

"No, Alfred does not count as a therapist," said Bruce. "Though he probably could do the job. I want to introduce you to the lady I use to meet with. She is excellent and I think she could help you. This is the second weird mood swing you've had and I don't think it would do any harm to get some help."

Ella sighed and thought for a minute. To be honest, talking about her feelings didn't seem like a terribly bad idea. It was a little strange to discuss _female _things with Alfred and Bruce, and there was also something weirdly difficult about conveying her problems to parental figures. But, on the other hand, she wasn't entirely sure how to put into words what she had felt during her little outburst. It was a strange thing in the pit of her stomach, and to explain it seemed impossible. "I dunno," she sighed. "Guess it wouldn't hurt."

"Really?" asked Bruce. "Thought you'd be against that. Well, that's great, missy. I'll set up a meeting with her. If you don't feel comfortable after you meet her, we'll move on from there."  
"Thanks, Pop," sighed Ella. "I'm sorry I broke that vase."

"It's okay," replied Bruce. "You're right about that room. It is sort of stupid to have a giant space dedicated to four vases. Well, three now."

"Oh, hey," said Ella, sitting upright and looking Bruce in the eye, "about the thing you did. You know."

She stopped talking and narrowed her eyes at him. He looked back, eyebrow raised.

"The thing?" he asked.

"You know," prodded Ella. "The smacking that took place."

"Oh, the thing," nodded Bruce. "What about it?"

"Is that a regular thing?" asked Ella, blushing at the thought. "Like if I'm bad, will that be a normal occurrence?"

"It worked, didn't it?" shrugged Bruce, amused by her concern. "I don't see any reason to rule it out as a possible option."

"That sucks," huffed Ella, dropping down onto the pillow beside Bruce and crossing her arms. He looked down at her and chuckled, earning a glare, "Hey, man, it feels a little babyish. Don't tell me you were getting smacked when you were thirteen."

"Oh, hey, now!" said Bruce, "I'll have you know that Alfred spanked me until I was seventeen-years-old!"

"Say what!" cried Ella, sitting upright and staring at her father. "Alfred spanked you?"  
"I'll say he did," nodded Bruce. "That man has a heck of a hard hand. He knew how to set me straight." Bruce stopped and smiled at his daughter, placing his left hand on her face, "Listen, El. Spanking is not my ideal form of punishment. I absolutely hate the idea of it. But it sure worked on me. Don't dwell on it, but keep it in mind if you ever think about building a bomb in the library or putting snakes in Alfred's bed."

"Speaking from experience?" questioned Ella smirking.

"No, just from fantasies," laughed Bruce.

"Okay, well, thanks for this incredibly awkward conversation on discipline," said Ella, scrambling up from the bed. "I actually have a book report to write, and I should probably let Alfred know I'm sorry for breaking the vase."

"Oh, he's probably standing right outside the door listening in," surmised Bruce. "And he is welcome in now if he would like."

The door opened, and Alfred stepped in, looking respectable as always despite his eavesdropping. "Shall I set up an appointment with Miss Reynard, sir?" he asked.

"That would be great, Alfred, thank you," nodded Bruce, regarding a well-known Gotham therapist, Teresa Reynard.

"Alfred, I'm sorry," said Ella, hurrying across the room and falling into the butler's embrace. "Sorry I didn't write for an hour and that I broke a vase."

"Yes, dear, I heard the whole thing, and you are more than forgiven," nodded Alfred, patting her head.

"Should I go down and work on the report now?" asked Ella, stepping back and leaning her weight from one foot to the other.

"Yes, I think that would be a good use of time," nodded Alfred, smiling slightly. "I'll be down before too long."

"Okay, see you later!" called Ella to both men as she ran out the door, her footsteps sounding down the hall.

Alfred turned to Bruce and went to collect the empty water glass. "Well, that was an interesting event. I think you made the right decision suggesting a therapist," he pronounced, shifting the pillows behind Bruce to a more comfortable position. Alfred picked up the water glass and glanced down at his master, "And you were eighteen when I stopped spanking you."

"I thought it was when I went to college?" said Bruce, pulling the blankets back over his legs. "I was seventeen then."

"Christmas break?" reminded Alfred.

Bruce closed his eyes and groaned, "Oh, yeah. The motorcycle incident."

"Mmhmm," nodded Alfred. "Call if you need me. I have a book report to supervise."

"Thank you, Alfred," said Bruce. "I don't know where I'd be without you."

"Probably dead from driving a motorcycle across a board over a pond," said Alfred, and he promptly shut the door before Bruce could respond.

**…**

**Thanks for reading, guys! You are all the best :) And thanks for the reviews from the last chapter! It is so sweet to hear what you guys think!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Well, it has been a hot minute since I updated. This is just a whole bunch of random fluff but I didn't want to leave you guys hanging with nothing!**

**...**

"What did the two of you talk about?" asked Alfred as he and Ella walked casually down the city sidewalk.

"Ah, I dunno," shrugged Ella, running her fingers along the cast-iron fence they were passing. She kicked at some slushy snow and jumped when some of it slid down the inside of her sneaker.

"First impressions of Miss Reynard?" questioned Alfred, stopping to wait for Ella as she scooped the mud from her sneaker.

Ella hopped on one foot to catch up and then knelt, "Uh, she's nice. I didn't mind talking to her. She has a pretty smile. Dad should date her. Oh, shoot, now my knee is wet."

"Well, that should have been an obvious outcome before you knelt in the snow," said Alfred, sighing and brushing the dirty snow from Ella's jeans. "Master Wayne isn't exactly up for potential relationships these days. He has a bit of healing to do." The two began walking again, and Ella slid her hand into Alfred's.

"Don't worry," she said, "I like her. I don't hate the idea of therapy anymore."  
"Now that is excellent news," smiled Alfred. "And I have a surprise for me."

"I figured as much," shrugged Ella. "We passed the car like five minutes ago."  
"Yes, but I bet you don't know what it is," shot back Alfred, squeezing Ella's hand. The girl shook her head and kicked some more slush. Alfred chuckled, "We're almost there. I'm sure you'll like it very much."

As he spoke, they passed a newspaper stand, and Ella stopped, pulling her hand free of Alfred's. "Say!" she said, running back and pulling the plastic door open. "It's about Batman. It says he was seen in the east end of town last night."

"Is that so?" asked Alfred, taking the paper from Ella. He nodded thoughtfully, "Yes, look at the picture. It is a fake. Batman has many fans that impersonate him." The butler lowered his voice and leaned close to Ella, "And for the present, we aren't too worried about people thinking Batman is out and about. The less of a connection to Bruce's injury and Batman's disappearance, the better."

Ella nodded, slipping her hand back into Alfred's, "Yeah, that makes sense. What time was Dad's appointment?"

"I left him at the hospital at 2:45," replied Alfred. "So, we have another hour or so before we have to pick him up. And here we are." Alfred nodded his head to the massive building beside them, and Ella turned to see where it was they had arrived.

"The Science Center!" she cried. "Yes! I have always wanted to go here! They have a planetarium and a Lego display and a whole section on zero gravity and…"

"A visiting dinosaur exhibit," interrupted Alfred, pointing to an enormous poster on the side of the building. "Which we can't see as long as we stand outside, jumping up and down."

"Okay, let's go in! Let's go in!" cried Ella, racing up the steps and into the building.

**… **

"There is an enormous scale model of the planets, too!" explained Ella, shifting energetically in her seat. "And the floor is painted like you are walking on stars."

"Well, I think we'll have to make a full-day trip before long," chuckled Bruce. "And what did Alfred think of the museum?"

"They have updated the building marvelously since I was last there," replied Alfred from the front seat of the car, steering them carefully through Gotham's busy streets. "An excellent visit."

Bruce winced as he shifted positions and sighed, leaning back, "Well, I'm glad you two had fun."

Ella noticed Bruce's discomfort and moved closer to him, nudging her shoulder against his, "How's your knee, Dad?"

"Oh, it will heal up before long," said Bruce, smiling. "Let's not worry about that. Tell me about the dinosaurs."

Ella could tell Bruce was avoiding the topic of his health, and his subject change proved a perfect distraction, "Oh, man, they were amazing!"

The rest of the trip home was discussing the many wonders of the science museum, while an understood silence between Alfred and Bruce promised a private conversation about the latter's hospital visit once home. Alfred also planned on once again addressing Ella's schooling, as he strongly felt private tutors were doing little to advance her education. Alfred scheduled them to start coming back in two days, and Alfred was determined to talk Bruce into a different approach when it came to academics.

**…**

"Do me a favor, Ella, and go down to the Batcave…the cave to make sure everything is secure," said Bruce, shooting her a glare when she smirked at his Batcave term.

"I will secure the Batcave," chuckled Ella, enjoying the practical yet funny-sounding name used to reference the hideout. She hurried off to the music room to access the hidden elevator, and Alfred assisted Bruce into a sitting room where the younger man dropped with a groan onto a couch.

"Make sure the Batcave is secure," said Alfred. "You have something you'd like to say in private?"

"Ah, Alfred," he said, "this will be a long run. I think I'm out of the game for good."

"Now, enough of that, Master Wayne," said Alfred, bustling about adjusting lights and drapes. "You'll heal up if you do what the doctors say and don't try anything taxing too soon."

"It hurts, Alfred," said Bruce, lifting his leg to rest on an ottoman. "This one is long term. I can feel it."

"What did the doctor say today?" asked Alfred, seating himself in a chair across from Bruce.

Bruce shrugged, slumping down in his seat, "Same old. Give it time. Take pain medicine. Keep it wrapped. Stay off of it. It's been weeks, Alfred."

"Yes, most injuries do not heal at astronomical speeds, Master Wayne," said Alfred. "You have been incredibly fortunate thus far with your injuries. It was just a matter of time before something more drastic happened."

"Shot down in my own house," growled Bruce.

"Enough of that," said Alfred, standing and crossing the room to look out the window. The sun shone through, and melting snow dripped from the roof, running down the glass. Spring was on the way. "It's too nice of a day for you to get down on yourself. Besides, I have another matter to discuss with you."

"If it's about women, forget it," said Bruce.

Alfred turned to face him, "Why on earth would you think that? It is nothing of the sort. Well, it is about a young woman. Your daughter, to be exact. I don't think we should continue with the private tutors. The learning style is not good for her. I think you should consider allowing me to tutor her."

Bruce looked up at stared at Alfred, "What? Alfred, you barely have time to keep this household running. You do more than you need to now. I can't let you do that."

Alfred smirked, "I'll require payment, of course."

"Oh, of course," chuckled Bruce. "And your time management?"

"I've been caring for her every day since she came here," replied Alfred, sitting back down. "I think we could manage it quite nicely."

"You haven't been teaching her, though," objected Bruce. "This is a big deal, Alfred. I don't know if I can spare you."

"This is your daughter, young man," said Alfred, leaning forward. His eyes and tone were deadly serious. "She is thirteen-years-old and educated at a sixth-grade level, yet she shows signs of great genius. The tutors are making little progress with her because they are presenting the material in a lecture form with little interaction. I believe that I have grown to understand Ella quite well, and I could tutor her efficiently and hopefully bring her up to the correct grade level, so that come this fall, she can attend school without the embarrassment of being far behind her peers."

Bruce raised an eyebrow and sighed, "Well, you seem to have thought this out. I…of course, Alfred. You know I trust you unconditionally."

Alfred narrowed his eyes and looked Bruce over carefully, "Something's on your mind."

Bruce sighed and rested his chin on his hand, "It's nothing."

"Whatever you say, sir," said Alfred, standing up. "I'll just leave then, and you can think about it for a few hours."

"Oh, sit back down," said Bruce, rolling his eyes. Alfred knew just how to get to him. Alfred smirked and lowered back onto the chair, waiting for Bruce to continue. The young man sighed, "It's just that I'm failing."

"Failing?" asked Alfred.

"Failing Ella," said Bruce, visibly wincing as he said it. "You know her better than I do. What kind of father am I? My father was involved in every bit of my life, and he knew just what I needed. Since she's come here, I've spent most of my time at work and the rest in bed. What sort of environment is that for a child?"

"What is Ella's favorite ice cream?" asked Alfred without so much as a slight pause.

"What?" asked Bruce, glancing in confusion at the butler. "Ice cream? Cookies dough. Why?"

"And what is her favorite boy's name?"

Bruce made a face, "Sebastian. What on earth does this have to do with anything?"

"How do you know those things?" asked Alfred.

"She told me," replied Bruce.

"Because you asked her," said Alfred.

"Yes, because I asked her," nodded Bruce.

"When did you ask her?" asked Alfred.

"Where is this going?" asked Bruce, leaning forward. "Just because I know random facts doesn't mean I'm a good father."

"You asked her what her favorite boy's name is while putting together the telescope on the roof," said Alfred. "You canceled two meetings and turned down an invitation to a birthday party for a senator to do it with her. You found out her favorite ice cream the night you took her to a Kabuki play in Gotham. You canceled a meeting with a potential donor for that."

"The point, Alfred?" demanded Bruce, though he knew it now.

"The point is," sighed Alfred, "you love her. You love her more than any person in this world. There are the obvious points, such as risking your life for her, but it's the small things, Master Wayne. You do everything you can think of to make her happy with little thought to yourself. You ask her small things. You take a genuine interest in her well-being. You aren't perfect, and you never will be. No one is. But don't you tell me that you have failed that girl as a father because you took her in and cared for her when no one else would, and you have selflessly given her a better life than she could have imagined. And I don't mean regarding money. I mean, regarding love."

"You're the one who brought her here," said Bruce, though he knew deep down that Alfred was right. "I told you to send her back."

"And then you changed your mind, and the first thing I did was give her that art book she is so enamored by," shot back Alfred. "From the very beginning, your sole purpose has been to make her happy and show her that someone cares. You have not failed. You have been the best father a child could ask for."

That was all it took for the tears to well-up in Bruce's eyes, and he hid his face in his hands, somewhat shocked by the sudden burst of emotion.

Alfred smiled, "Alright, Master Wayne. None of that. You're a good dad, and that's all there is to it." He stood and approached his young master, placing his hands on the man's shoulders. "We'll have no more of this self-degradation. And I still have your permission to cancel the tutors?"

Bruce nodded, not trusting his voice.

"Excellent," said Alfred. "I'll send Ella in. Either get those emotions under control or be prepared to explain to her why you are so passionate about the night sky."

"The night sky?" said Bruce looking up, his voice shaky.

"Here," said Alfred, dropping a book onto Bruce's lap. "I picked it up at the science center. Just the sort of thing the two of you could use up on the roof while watching stars."

Bruce smiled, brushing a stray tear away, "Thank you, Alfred. Thank you."

"I know," nodded Alfred, understanding the appreciation was for far more than the book. He stood and left, patting Bruce affectionately on the shoulder, to go and find Ella.

Bruce rubbed his eyes to clear away traces of tears and sighed, opening the front cover. Writing caught his eye, and he read the freshly penned words scrawled across the inside cover.

For Bruce and Ella…the two I love the most. Affectionately, Alfred.

**...**

**I literally cannot resist fatherly Alfred. HE'S JUST SO CUTE! For the record, what do you guys want to see next? More random one-shot chapters? Alfred and Ella stuff? Bruce and Ella stuff? Let me know in the reviews! I do have a plot-line in mind, but little side stuff-things can take place along the way. Thanks for reading!**


	14. Chapter 14

**In case you haven't been able to tell, I have been suffering MAJOR writer's block. What cures writer's block? Being quarantined apparently! Hope you are all staying safe and not going crazy in your houses!**

**...**

"What is our goal?" asked Alfred, leaning forward over the desk, pen in hand.

"To be able to send her to school so she can have a normal life," replied Bruce.

"And we want to do it as quickly as possible," added Alfred, scrawling several sentences on the paper before him. "So, we need to catch her up in the most important subjects. Maths and English are probably our biggest goals. If we want her to be able to start school this fall, we will have to work hard. Ella will have to work hard."

"I don't want her pushed all summer," said Bruce, resting against the back of his chair, his hand resting lightly on his chest wound. He winced.

"Why are you touching it?" said Alfred without looking up. "I told you not to touch it, or it will hurt. That is common gunshot wound knowledge, sir."

"Thank you, Alfred," said Bruce, his voice short. "I didn't mean to touch it." He sighed, regretting his sharp tones, "Sorry. I'm just tense and ready to get back to my normal life."

"This is your normal life," said Alfred, setting his pen down and rising to his feet. "Your normal life is having a sore knee and a healing body. You can't make it get better any faster, so try to enjoy life as it is. Spring is almost here, and we need to plan a party."

Bruce looked up, "I'm sorry, what?"

"A party, Master Wayne," said Alfred, puttering around the room and straightening a few books on the shelves.

"Yes, I heard you," said Bruce. "What are you talking about? I thought we were planning a schedule for Ella's schooling."

"We are, but while we are planning, we might as well include a party," said Alfred, picking up the tray he had carried Bruce's lunch in on. "I'll take care of this, and you can think about who you want to invite. I suggest Wayne Enterprises' biggest investors and stockholders. Perhaps some of the more elite in Gotham. Anyone who cares about being seen at the party introducing Bruce Wayne's daughter to the world."

Bruce let out a sound between a snort and a chuckle, "Introducing Ella? Why would I do that? She doesn't need to be a part of all that high society ridiculousness."

"No, but we need to keep up your name and reputation," said Alfred. "For future purposes."

Irritated as he was, Bruce knew Alfred was right. The Bruce Wayne that Gotham knew would throw a party as soon as he had recovered, to celebrate his health by drowning everyone in champagne and finger foods. And that Bruce Wayne would want to notch up his social status by introducing the girl that had flooded headlines since her kidnapping. But Bruce wasn't sure he was ready to share Ella just yet.

"How about next month," he said.

"How about next Friday," said Alfred. "Put yourself in Ella's shoes. The only two people she has seen lately are you and me. Now, a child as energetic and charming as Ella cannot be expected to hide herself away with two old bachelors her whole life. She needs friends and social experience. The Pavler family would make an excellent addition to your guest list."

"The Pavler family?" asked Bruce. "Nick Pavler of the city council?"

Alfred nodded, walking towards the study door, "That's the one. Along with his lovely wife and their three children, ages nine to thirteen. Their son is thirteen."

"I get it, Alfred," nodded Bruce smirking. "You always have a method to your madness. Okay, we'll have a party. Ella does need some socialization."

"I'll schedule the caterers," called Alfred, walking down the hall with Bruce's tray.

**…**

"Oh man, oh gee, oh heck," said Ella, supporting herself in the air with her hands on the stairwell banisters. "A real party? Like with fancy dresses and wine?"

"Fancy dresses and champagne," corrected Alfred, setting a pot on the stove. "Don't hang like that; you'll break the railing."

"So, I'll have to wear a fancy dress?" asked Ella, narrowing her eyes as she dropped from the railing.

"Yes, you'll have to wear a fancy dress," nodded Alfred. "Chop up these carrots and put them in the pot."

Ella stepped up to the kitchen island and picked up a knife, jabbing it straight on into one of the carrots and holding it up, "Can I wear the same dress I wore at the court hearing?"

"No, the press has already seen that one," replied Alfred, sliding diced potatoes into the pot.

"I hate that that matters," said Ella, glaring at the carrots and pulling it off the knife. She began cutting it long ways until Alfred gave her a look of 'are you kidding me,' and she switched to dicing it. "We could put it in the sink with a bunch of food coloring and dye it. No one would know the difference."

"Or we could buy a new dress," said Alfred. "Which I already have. Seven to be exact. You can choose the one you like best."

"Who is to be invited?" asked Ella, digging the tip of her knife into a carrot slice and letting the knife stand upright.

"Master Wayne is deciding now," replied Alfred, stirring the broth he was warming. The smells of vegetable stew swirled about the kitchen, and Ella's mind wandered back to the first days she had spent in the manor, following Alfred around and helping him in the kitchen. They had made this exact recipe on one of her early days here.

"Alfred," said Ella, watching him dropping celery into the pot, "will Dad ever walk again?"

"Of course he will," replied Alfred, removing the precariously stabbed knife from the carrots and swiping them into a small bowl to carry to the stove. "It will take time, but he is strong and healthy. He'll be just as fit as before."

"Will he be Batman again?" asked Ella.

Alfred was silent a minute, letting the stew simmer as well as his thoughts. He sighed.

Ella leaned against the counter, resting her weight on her elbow as she waited.

Alfred stared at the stew, not moving a muscle.

Ella blinked. The silence was getting a bit awkward. "Um-" she began.

"I guess we'll find out when the day comes, won't we," replied Alfred, turning to face Ella and plastering on a very fake smile. "Shall we set the table for supper?"

Ella stayed still as Alfred bustled past her, gathering place settings from the china cupboard. Ella knew very well that Alfred was firmly on the side of Bruce retiring from Batman. He had even created a plan for erasing suspicion from Bruce's name, but Bruce had brushed it off when presented with it. Ella remembered how Alfred had insisted Bruce think it over, even for temporary purposes, but Bruce had grown upset and mumbled something about duty. He had looked at Ella with an appealing gaze and asked her to leave the room. She had heard them arguing before the door even closed behind her.

Ella pushed the memory aside and followed Alfred, gathering glasses and silverware from the cupboard. She stopped herself as she reached for a third glass. Alfred never ate with them, but Ella always forgot and started to set three places at the dining table. She had never found the courage to question the procedure, but it often puzzled her how separated Alfred was from Bruce and herself. Wasn't he part of the family? Of course, she understood that he was hired-help and of no relation to the Wayne's, but hadn't he surpassed that station by now?

From Ella's point of view, Alfred and Bruce were a father and son. Bruce made scarcely a single decision without running part of the situation by his trusted butler. On the flip side, Alfred poured his time and devotion to caring for Bruce's wellbeing. Sure he was paid, but the job description did not include tenderly comforting Ella when she cried or stitching wounds closed on a battered Bruce after Batman had taken a hit. There was something more to Alfred and Bruce's relationship, and Ella didn't understand why they still weren't at the point where Alfred could eat supper with them.

"Were you waiting for an invitation, young miss?" came Alfred's voice echoing down the hall.

Ella snapped back to reality and gathered the dishes in her arms, hurrying to the small dining room she and Bruce used regularly. Tonight was not the night she intended to rock the boat with the questions plaguing her mind. Still, she determined to keep a close watch on Bruce and Alfred's relationship and see if there was something she was interpreting incorrectly.

**…**

Ella had talked to more people in this one evening than she had spoken to in the entire eight months she had been at Wayne Manor. Everyone wanted to make her acquaintance and assure her that Bruce was 'a wonderful man' and 'a rock in their society.' Ella would smile and shake hands and nod and glance around anxiously to make sure Bruce was still nearby. He would always give her a reassuring nod as he politely conversed with a woman wearing far too much makeup or a blustering businessman trying to impress the young billionaire.

After what seemed like hours of greeting strange people and killing her cheeks with fake smiles, Ella felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up to see Alfred.

"I hate to pull her away from such a wonderful company," smiled Alfred, addressing the couple Ella was talking to, "but I'm afraid I need her for just a few moments."

There was an awkward nod and scattered words of parting between the couple and Ella, and then relief filled the girl's heart as she fell into step beside Alfred.

"I'm so exhausted," she mumbled so only the butler could hear.

"You are doing wonderfully," said Alfred admirably. He glanced down at the pretty girl and noted the fatigue in her eyes. It may have slipped the guests notice, but Alfred knew Ella well enough to see she was getting overwhelmed by all the attention. "I have someone interesting for you to meet. Councilman Nick Pavler has just arrived with his three children."

Alfred finished speaking just as the councilman and his family came into view. Nick Pavler was a picture-perfect government figure standing tall and handsome with a winning smile at his beck and call. His wife, Amalia Pavler, was a dark beauty with sharp Russian features and a practiced smile equal to her husband's. Their three children followed their mother's height, the oldest being nowhere near as tall as Ella, but all took after their father in looks with blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Alfred stopped before them and bowed ever so slightly.

"Councilman Pavler," he greeted, "it is my pleasure to introduce you to Master Wayne's daughter, Miss Ella Wayne."

"How do you do, Miss Wayne?" chuckled Pavler in a voice rich with enthusiasm. "It was an honor to be invited this evening."

"Thank you for coming, sir," replied Ella, shaking the man's hand. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

"How are you, my darling?" said Mrs. Pavler, a Russian accent enveloping her words. "You are simply beautiful, my love. This dress merely enhances a natural enchantment you are blessed by."

"I…thank you," smiled Ella, caught off guard and slightly humored by the enthusiastic greeting. "I am so glad you could come tonight."

"Ah, my children," said Mrs. Pavler, obviously the more outspoken of the couple. "This is Misha, our oldest son."

"How do you do?" nodded Misha, taking Ella's hand in a quick shake. He seemed embarrassed, and his cheeks flushed immediately at her touch.

"Misha is thirteen," continued Mrs. Pavler. "Here we have Lily, who is eleven."

"Hi," smiled Lily, giving Ella a truly genuine smile. Lily seemed to bop up and down even as she stood still, and she struck Ella as a fun person.

"And finally nine-year-old Erik," finished Mrs. Pavler, resting her hand on the smallest boy's shoulder.

Erik said nothing but nodded his head towards Ella before having his attention drawn back to the orchestra playing across the room.

"Very nice to meet you all," smiled Ella, twisting her hands behind her back at a loss of what else to do with them.

"Oh, it's fantastic!" exclaimed Lily. "We never get to go to parties and when we do it is always filled with adults. We are going to have so much fun!"

"Liliana," said Mrs. Pavler in an authoritative voice, "let's remember where we are, dear."

"Yeah," mumbled Lily, her excitement curbed slightly, but the bounce still in her feet.

"We are quite honored that you were able to join us this evening," smiled Alfred, his hands resting on Ella's shoulders. "Now if you will excuse me, I will leave you to get acquainted."

Ella's body tensed under Alfred's hands in a silent plea for him to stay, but he gave her a reassuring pat and bustled away. She smiled as well as she could at the family and hoped one of them would say something, since she could think of nothing.

"I hear you are the same age as our Misha," commented Mr. Pavler. "When is your birthday, Miss Wayne?"

"July 30th, sir," replied Ella, unsure of how to address a councilman.

"Misha's is April 17th," piped up Lily. "Two weeks away! Maybe you can come to his birthday party. Can she, Mom?"

Misha gave his mother a slight nod and Mrs. Pavler smiled, and this time it seemed more natural, "I don't see why not, Lily. I shall discuss it with Mr. Wayne this evening." Turning to her husband, Mrs. Pavler slipped her arm into his and said, "Nick, why don't we mingle and leave the children to their own devices."

"Of course, dear," nodded Mr. Pavler, his smile just as practiced as before. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Wayne."

Ella nodded as the two walked off before turning to face Misha, Lily, and Erik. "Uh, hi," she said awkwardly.

"Are they here all the time?" asked Erik, his gaze still fixed on the orchestra.

"The musicians?" asked Ella, confirming the base of his question. "Well, no. My dad hired them for tonight."

"I'm gonna go listen," said Erik, never looking away from the musical group. He hurried off, dodging servers and millionaires, leaving the older three alone.

"This is a beautiful home," said Misha. He looked like he wasn't sure what to do with his hands and kept tucking them under the tails of his tuxedo. "Our house isn't anywhere near as big as this. We live in the middle of Gotham, though, so there isn't exactly room for large homes."

"I used to live in the city," said Ella. "I like it here a lot more. There are tons of places to do things outside. I found some good sledding hills this winter."

Lily's eyes instantly lit up, and she laughed a silvery sounding laugh, "Oh, I love sledding! We've only done it once when we were vacationing in Vermont two years ago. I wish there were snow now. Do you like snow or summer better?"

"She means winter or summer," corrected Misha.

"No, I mean snow or summer," shot-back Lily. "Winter doesn't always mean snow."

"It's okay," smiled Ella, feeling more at ease with the two children than she had with any adult all evening. "I guess I like summer better. But the sky is so pretty in the winter. My dad and I have some neat telescopes that we use to watch the stars. I like winter constellations."

"We have a telescope, but it just sits in the game room," shrugged Misha. "I should start using it again."

"Let's explore!" said Lily, rather suddenly.

"Lil, cool it," said Misha, rolling his eyes. "We can't leave the party."

"No, no," said Ella, the idea of exploring suddenly overwhelmingly enticing. "I can show you around. Parties aren't my thing, and if I have to make small talk with one more lawyer, I'm going to go insane."

"Yes!" giggled Lily. "Where to first?"

"Follow me," said Ella, doing a quick scan to make sure Bruce or Alfred didn't see her slip away. "There aren't secret rooms or hallways, but it sure seems like it with the maze of doorways in this place." They hurried across the bustling room, though twice they stopped to smile politely at several doting women, but finally burst free into an empty hallway, the sounds and laughter of the gathering suddenly muted considerably. "Holy Toledo," sighed Ella, stretching her arms, "I didn't realize how horrendous it was in there."

"Everyone acts so fake at these parties," said Misha, his hands now tucked casually into the waistband of his pants. "It feels unnatural and weird."

"I don't!" said Lily, spinning in a circle so that her dress billowed out around her.

"You never feel weird," said Misha.

"Okay, let's go," said Ella, feeling enthusiastic about the tour. For the first time since moving in, she suddenly had someone to share in the excitement of the large manor. Bruce had grown up here, so he never could fully appreciate Ella's awe at the wonder of the size. "First of all," said Ella, "I want to show you the main staircase."

"Oh, we saw that when we came in," said Lily.

"Yeah, but we're going to go up it," said Ella, leading them down a hall to the right. Comments on the height of the ceiling or enormity of art were muttered continuously by the Pavler siblings during the out-of-the-way walk to the main entrance, and twice Lily let out a sort of shrieking giggle at the elegant décor of a room.

"Stop!" whispered Misha, his arm wrapping suddenly around Ella's waist and pulling her back against the wall. He instantly released his grip, but for the quick second that it happened, a funny feeling blossomed in Ella's stomach and caused her cheeks to blush as deeply as Misha's had when they shook hands.

A server scurried by the doorway just a few feet away, and the children giggled in the darkness.

"We are spies and mustn't be caught," teased Misha, using a forced Russian accent similar to his mother's. "Lead on, Commander."

Ella, feeling utterly thrilled at the concept of play that had been gone so long from her life, put on a stern face and nodded, "You saved us, Lieutenant. Is the prisoner secured?"

Lily slapped the palm of her hands against her forehead and groaned, "Oh, how I hate this wretched slavery. Just let me be free, my captors!" The Pavler's instant participation pleased Ella, and she felt the fatigue previously troubling her slipping away.

"Onward," she whispered, hurrying to the doorway and peering both ways. "It's clear." She led the little group across the hall and into a grand room; voices brought her to a stop, and she slid up to a doorway directly to their right. "We have arrived, folks," she whispered, nodding to the large entry foyer of the manor. A few people were arriving and handing their coats to valets, but it was mostly empty. "I say we act like we own the place and walk right up," suggested Ella.

"You do own the place," replied Misha.

"Excellent," nodded Ella. "We have that on our side, then."

Misha chuckled, and it made Ella blush again. Was it possible to have a crush on a boy you had met just moments before? She pushed the thought aside. No. No crushes allowed. She had never had one before, and she wasn't going to start now. Misha was just a friend – hopefully, a friend. Ella wasn't even sure of that yet.

"Okay, here we go," she said, stepping out. "Act natural."

The valets, of course, paid no mind to the three children as they hurried up the first portion of the grand staircase. Once they were around the bend, Ella rested against a pillar and grinned.

"Good news, men," she said. "We have accomplished Phase 1."

"Am I still a prisoner, or am I one of the spies now?" asked Lily.

"It changes by the minute," replied Ella. "Upward. Glory awaits."

"For our country!" said Misha, running up the stairs two at a time. Lily and Ella followed, somewhat inhibited by their dresses, but once on the main floor, all three ran in the general direction of the bedrooms, laughing and dodging chairs and statues.

"Okay," said Ella, completely caught up in the play-acting, "we have one objective. We must rescue the kidnapped tiger."

"Kidnapped tiger!" said Lily, bouncing from one foot to the other. "Who kidnapped him?"

"The kidnappers," replied Ella, her voice eerie and low.

Misha chuckled again, "Ah, those darn kidnappers. Okay, let's find Roger."

"Who is Roger?" asked Lily.

"The tiger," said Misha. "His name is Roger."

"Excellent name," said Ella. "They have hidden him on the roof. We have to make it before sunset."

"Sunset happened three hours ago, Commander," groaned Misha.

"Then we have to hold our breath or the night air will suffocate us," said Ella, leading the way down a hall towards the balcony that wrapped around Bruce's bedroom. It had a secondary door in the main hall, and they would use that to access the outside roof staircase. Throwing the door open, Ella stepped outside and smiled as the night air washed over her. It was an unusually cold April night, but it still felt much better on the balcony than it did inside the stuffy ballroom.

"This is so neat!" exclaimed Lily, running to the railing and looking over.

"Don't fall or the crocodiles in the moat will eat you," said Misha, staying close to Ella but enjoying the spacious balcony as much as his sister.

"There is the staircase," said Ella, pointing to her left. She started up the steps with Misha and Lily close behind, and they reached the top in no time.

"Hello."

Ella jumped and spun to face the voice coming from across the roof.

"Dad?" she asked, her heart beating furiously at the shock of a voice.

"Ella," nodded Bruce, walking across the flat part of the upper roof, cane in hand. "And who have we here?"

"Uh, this is Misha and Lily," said Ella, stepping aside and letting the siblings step off the staircase.

"Hi, Misha and Lily," grinned Bruce, shaking each of their hands. "I'm Mr. Wayne. It's wonderful that you could join us tonight. Is Elly doing a good job of showing you around?"

"Oh, yes, Mr. Wayne," nodded Misha, smiling. "Your house is amazing."

"Thank you," grinned Bruce, putting an arm around Ella and pulling her close. "I'm glad you like it. You are welcome over anytime you like. Well, I'm going to head back down to that swinging party. You kids don't know a fun time when you see it." He jabbed his elbow playfully into Ella's side, and she giggled, relieved that he wasn't upset.

"He's joking," she assured the other two. "Can I show them the telescopes?"

"You _may _show them the telescopes," nodded Bruce, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "I'm going to give a very heartfelt and beautiful toast in about a half-hour, so make sure you are back down by then. That's what I came up to tell you."

"Sure thing, Pops," nodded Ella. "Thanks. Hey, how'd you know we were coming here?"

"You're Ella, and I know you," shrugged Bruce.

"Wow, am I that predictable?" asked Ella, beginning to walk towards the telescopes.

"Always, sweetheart, always," teased Bruce, starting down the stairs. Ella smiled but felt her heart drop a little when Bruce winced slightly, his limp slowing him down considerably. She had almost forgotten about his injury. Ella felt a jolt of fear when she realized Misha and Lily would probably want to know all about his injury.

"Wow, this telescope is amazing!" came Misha's voice, breaking Ella from her thoughts. She smiled and turned to face him, remembering her excitement to show him how it worked, and all thoughts of Bruce flooded away.

Thirty minutes came and went, and it didn't take long for Alfred's soft tones of a reminder to sound from the top of the staircase and the three children to race for all they were worth back to the ballroom. The rest of the night passed reasonably quickly, and the Pavler's were the last to leave the manor after other guests trickled out full of champagne and hors d'oeuvres.

"My mom will let you know about my birthday party," promised Misha as the adults chatted near the front door.

"Okay," smiled Ella, "I'm glad you came tonight. I don't know many people my age."

"I'm glad I came, too," grinned Misha. "See you soon, Ella."

The Pavler's left and Ella waved goodbye from the front door, her arm wrapped around Bruce's waist.

"So," began Bruce, pulling her inside and closing the door, "how terrible was the party?"

"Not incredibly awful," shrugged Ella, "and I'm so glad I met the Pavler's."

"I'm glad you met them, too," grinned Bruce, loosening his bowtie. "Shall we get out of these silly clothes?"

"_Please_," sighed Ella in a dramatically exasperated tone.

Alfred seemed to appear out of nowhere and chuckled. "I think a hot bath is in order," he suggested.

"That sounds amazing," groaned Bruce, resting his weight on his cane.

"I meant for the young miss," said Alfred, placing a hand on Ella's head. Ella giggled and looked back and forth between the butler and her father.

"That sounds amazing," she mimicked Bruce.

"Who is going to turn on the water for me?" griped Bruce, a tone of jest behind his voice.

"I believe you can manage, sir," called Alfred over his shoulder as he walked with Ella towards the staircase.

An hour later, Ella was tucked into bed, the exhaustion that had slipped away in her excitement with the Pavler's resurfacing the moment she touched the pillow. Ella's dress lay draped over a chair in the corner; a robe, slippers, and book made a trail towards the bed where Ella had dropped them on her way.

Bruce had stopped in to say goodnight, and now the room was dark, a faint glow from the moon streaming in through the large windows. Ella had a slight pull from her sleepy state when she thought she heard a phone ring, but her eyelids were too heavy to care, and seconds later, she was slumbering deeply.

**…**

"Ella! Ella!"

The voice was so light and soft in her dreams that Ella almost thought it was her mother's voice. No. It was not her mother. It sounded more like a boy.

"Ella! Ella, wake up!"

It sounded like the boy she had met at the party. Her dream was too fuzzy to find his name.

"Ella!"

Ella opened her eyes. This was not a dream. She sat up and looked around the dark room, her eyes landing on a sliver of light coming through her door, cracked open.

"Ella!" came the voice again. There was a silhouette of a body.

"Misha?" she asked groggily.

"Yeah, can I come in?" asked the voice. "I promise I haven't even looked in the room. I just cracked the door and saw your dress on that chair."

"I…what?" Ella slowly climbed out of bed, her entire body heavy with exhaustion. She stumbled across the room and flicked the light on, which was a mistake since it instantly blinded her. She blinked hard, trying to accustom her vision, and then pulled the door open. Misha Pavler stood before her, anxiously looking up and down the hall.

"Hey," he whispered nervously. "Your look different. Your hair is really curly."

"What the actual heck are you doing?" asked Ella, trying to figure out if she was still dreaming or not, and half wondering just how crazy her hair looked after tumbling out of bed.

"I'm a spy," shrugged Misha, grinning. "Well, not really, but we were playing that earlier. And so, I decided to do some real detective work. Just a hunch, you know."

"I have no idea what you're…why are you…how did you get here?" asked Ella, her brain still trying to catch up with whatever it was that was happening.

"I never left," answered Misha, his voice low. "I got in the back of the limo then slid out the other door. My parents never noticed."

"What on earth?" muttered Ella. "What time is it?" She tried to look at her alarm clock across the room, but her eyes were still too hazy.

"3:12 a.m.," replied Misha. "I found this on the roof." He held up a batarang. "Is it true? Is your dad Batman?"

Ella stared at him. She looked down at the batarang. She looked back at Misha. She looked back at the batarang. Then she shut the door hard in Misha's face.

**…**

**Leave a review and let me know what you thought! Thanks for stopping by and reading! (PS for anyone who is reading it, I have not abandoned the Marvel story, I promise!)**


	15. Chapter 15

**Ohhhhhhhh, man. It has been a good bit since I updated. Here is a bit of a shorter chapter, but I needed to push so I could transition on in the story! Hope you are all are well and safe!**

**...**

"Ella! Ella!"

The whispers were harsh and almost loud enough to be considered talking.

Ella swung the door back open and stared at Misha. "What are you _doing_?" she hissed. "Get in here before someone sees you!"

Misha entered the room, and Ella shut the door softly, though she would have much rather slammed it. She turned to face Misha, eyes flashing. Tired as she was, the idea of someone discovering Bruce's alter ego was enough to give her a lucid mind.

"Why on earth did you come back here? Give me that!" she said, snatching the batarang from Misha's hand.

"Hey!" said the boy, trying to grab it back. "Give it here!"

"No!" said Ella. "You found it at my house, so it's mine. You can't just take things from other people's houses. What are your parents thinking right now? They have obviously figured out you're missing. Do you know what time it is? I don't even know what time it is! I was _sleeping_!" Now she was tired, confused, and angry.

"I literally just told you what time it is," said Misha, looking at his watch. "Now it is 3:13 a.m., and I had to come back. This is a batarang like the Batman uses. I saw it when you were showing us the telescope, and I decided to investigate."

"Yeah, it's like Batman's," nodded Ella, her mind racing to come up with a decent explanation. She reached up to rub the sleep from her eyes and suddenly became aware of her appearance. Her cheeks flushed, and her heartrate picked up when she realized Misha was seeing her completely messed up from sleeping. "Dad bought some a few weeks ago, and we sometimes practice throwing them on the roof. Why on earth would you think that means he is Batman?"

"Because you showed us his office earlier, and I noticed his computer," said Misha, his eyes flashing with adrenaline and excitement. "I went in there and looked around a bit and found pictures. Mr. Wayne dressed in the batsuit apart from the cowl. They looked like the kind of pictures they take for actors when they want to remember their costumes."

Ella felt a chill wash over her, and she froze, unsure of how to proceed from here. She wasn't sure what those photos were, but she imagined they were for research on how to fit the suit to Bruce's body better. The laptop was usually safely stored in the cave, but a sudden memory hit her of Alfred carrying it up to the study to move some files to Bruce's desktop computer. It must have gone forgotten in the excitement of the party. But how had Misha logged in to the laptop?

"How…why…why would you…" Ella trailed off, still trying to wake up and wrap her brain around what was happening. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, fighting to clear her mind. "Okay. First of all, what made you think you had the right to snoop around on my father's computer? That is illegal. You broke into our house and somehow hacked our personal information. Then you tried to steal our private property." She glared intently at Misha and was a little surprised to see his face fall and then grow slightly fearful.

"Oh! I…oh, gosh, Ella," he said, his skin growing quite pale. "I didn't mean…I wasn't trying to…oh, no. I just got excited and wanted to see if Mr. Wayne was the Batman. Oh, no. What did I do? Oh, boy. I am in so much trouble. Am I going to go to jail? Ella!"

"Hey, cool it!" hissed Ella, aware of how loud Misha's voice was becoming. "You want to wake up my dad! We aren't going to send you to jail, but you and I need to have a very long talk, pal. Sit down." She pointed to a chair beside the door and scooped her party dress up from the seat so Misha could sit down.

He lowered himself down, hands visibly shaking, and Ella threw her dress onto the bed before turning to face him, arms crossed.

"Okay, man," she said, but stopped and took a deep breath. Her mind finally had become less foggy, and she could see that Misha was truly scared. It surprised Ella when the thought flashed across her mind that she probably would have done the same thing in his place. Of course, Batman was Gotham's biggest secret and iconic hero. Why wouldn't a thirteen-year-old boy be intrigued by clues to the identity of the Caped Crusader? "Alright, Misha," said Ella, beginning to pace back and forth before him, "so you broke into our house and went through my dad's stuff. Yeah, it was stupid, but we don't have to tell anybody. We can just pretend that…um… we planned it! I wanted to show you – uh – the – hm. I dunno, I'll think of something. So you snuck back, and we lost track of time! No, that's stupid. Why would we have done that? Uh, let's see…"

"Ella!" snapped Misha, a mixture of anxiety and perplexion etched across his face. "Is your dad Batman?"

Ella stopped and looked at him. The sounds of the room seemed so much louder in the deafening silence between them. She could hear the faucet dripping in the bathroom and the low hum of the heating system. The air itself felt more substantial and humid than before, and Ella noticed for the first time that the wall beside her door had a dent from when she had slammed the door open too hard last week. Why wasn't there a stop there? Funny the things that stood out in overwhelming moments.

"I…not now," said Ella, making eye contact with Misha for a split second before staring at her socks. One was inside out. She had put them on while reading a book and paid very little attention as to their appearance until now.

"Not now?" asked Misha, standing up slightly, but dropping right back down. "Well, obviously not now. He's in bed now, probably. I mean, like when the Batman is out, is that your dad? Is it Mr. Wayne?"

"Not now," repeated Ella. Her ears were buzzing and felt like someone was blowing air into them. The whole room was completely suffocating.

A knock at the door terrified both of them, and Ella let out a short, unintended scream. The door swung open, and the bedroom light bathed Alfred's frame. "Ah, here you are, young man," he said, glancing down at Misha. "Your parents called early this morning and informed us you had gone missing."

"Alfred, I can explain!" said Ella, running over to the butler and placing a hand on his arm.

"I'm sure you have both come up with an excellent excuse, but I think the most important thing to do right now is to inform Mr. Pavler's parents that he is safe," said Alfred, striding across the room to a vintage-looking telephone on Ella's bureau.

Alfred made the call as Ella and Misha looked on nervously, and then the butler hung up, turning to face them.

"Now, then," he said, "let's have the full story."

"Is Mr. Wayne the Batman?" piped up Misha, standing up from the chair.

"You are a very outgoing person," said Ella, shooting him a glare. He had just destroyed any chance of them lying their way out of the situation. A twinge of guilt struck her heart when she realized she had even considered lying to Alfred, but it was quickly replaced by relief that perhaps the butler could talk Misha out of this crazy idea that just happened to be true.

Alfred's face etched with puzzlement, "Mr. Wayne, young man? Do you think Mr. Wayne is Batman? And how do you think the poor man would go running around fighting villains with the bad knee he has?"

Misha froze, his face growing confused, but he brightened quickly, "Oh, but the pictures! I saw pictures of him without the cowl on!"

"Halloween, dummy," spoke up Ella, rolling her eyes. "Dad has a thing for drama, and he wanted to dress up as Batman."

Alfred laughed and shook his head, "Do you mean to tell me that you ran away from your parents to come back here and do some detective work searching for Batman? Ah, to be a robust boy again. Alright, young man, let's get you set up in a guest room. Your parents will be by in the morning to collect you."

"So – so – so he's not – I mean…" Misha trailed off as Alfred put a hand on his shoulder, leading him from the room. The butler paused, sticking his head back in the doorway and said, "I'll be right back."

Ella sighed and sank onto her bed to wait for Alfred. That had been a close call if there ever was one. If anyone found out about Bruce, it would only take a single accidental mention to ruin the secret. Ella fully intended to lie there and worry over every anxiety-ridden detail that could happen. Still, it took only a few minutes for her eyes to slide shut and a strange half awake-half asleep sense to overcome her. Suddenly, Bruce was at her side and holding her close as he arranged the blankets. His wince went unnoticed by the exhausted girl when Ella accidentally brushed the gunshot wound.

"Don't bother waking up, missy," he said. "We'll talk in the morning. Alfred is getting Misha settled."

"He almost found out, Daddy," mumbled Ella.

Bruce grinned, loving to hear the fatherly term from his sweet girl's lips. She generally used 'Dad,' but when tired or upset, she would often switch to something such as 'Daddy' or 'Papa.' "It's okay, El," said Bruce, brushing her curls back from her face. "Everything is fine. Sleep for a while, okay, kiddo?"

"Yeah," whispered Ella, the clutch of sleep still gripping her. "Night."

"Night, sweetheart," said Bruce, kissing her temple.

Ella was slightly aware of the light switching off, but before Bruce could shut the door, she was fast asleep.

**...**

**Ah, I love a good resolve. Thanks for following and reviewing! Ya'll are so nice and supportive!**


	16. Chapter 16

**HI, GUYS! I have been gone for a little while, but I'm finally back! Enjoy this next chapter :)**

**...**

_Three Months Later_

Ella scratched the bug bites scattered across her legs as she rested her back against the bottom of Bruce's Adirondack chair. His legs were on either side of her, protected from pesky mosquitoes by slacks. Ella slapped at an insect and groaned, "They are everywhere."

"Why didn't you use bug spray?" said Bruce, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone.

"I forgot," said Ella, kicking involuntarily as another bite occurred on her left leg. "Stop it!"

"I see someone forgot insect repellant," said Alfred, appearing beside them in his suit. He held a silver tray with a canister of bug spray placed on it, looking every bit the billionaire's butler that he was.

Ella giggled at the strange sight of Alfred serving repellant like a drink but scrambled to her feet to accept it. "Thanks, Alfred," she said. "You're a lifesaver. Well, for me. Not the bugs." She stepped away to coat herself in the spray thoroughly and then handed it back to Alfred. "I can feel it is working," she said.

"How can you feel it working?" asked Bruce. "It doesn't do anything."

"I mean, I feel rejuvenated," said Ella, dropping back to her spot on the ground.

"Mm, okay," nodded Bruce. "Thanks, Alfred. How are the guests?"

"Everyone is doing superbly," called Alfred over his shoulder, already on his way to keep an eye on the hired staff.

The Fourth of July. One of the biggest holidays in Gotham. Wayne Manor bustled with high society and plus-ones who managed to sneak along, and the day had sped by with swimming, drinks, music, and what Ella referred to as 'gourmet barbeque.' She had spent the afternoon running around with a few children she didn't know very well and was relieved when the Pavler's arrived in time for supper. The family had been invited to another party as well, so they only stayed for a few hours, but Ella thoroughly enjoyed reuniting with Misha and the others. The Pavler's and Ella had seen one other at least once a week for the past few months, but the stretches in between seemed numbingly long to Ella. Understandably, with Ella living so far out of Gotham, any chance to fellowship with people her age was a thrill.

Now evening was well underway, and Bruce had retired to a quiet part of the lawn with Ella to watch the fireworks. Every year he spent nearly two hundred thousand dollars on fireworks, and the show never failed to impress attendees. Many said that the grand finale was even visible in the city.

Bruce leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Ella's neck, "Are you excited to see the rockets, kiddo?"

"Yeah," she grinned, leaning back to see his face. "This was the best party ever."

"Because you didn't have to wear a dress?" smirked Bruce.

"Because I didn't have to wear a dress," nodded Ella.

Several couples strolled by and made small talk with Bruce, so Ella leaned back and relaxed, merely taking in the beautiful night. From where she and Bruce sat, Ella could see over the entire backfield down to the river that circled the end of the lawn. Fireflies dotted the grass and became brighter and brighter as the light faded. The pleasant strains of conversation floated across the yard as guests mingled here and there. Some lingered around tables, and some stood in groups, holding glasses of champagne. The folks talking to Bruce wandered off, and Ella twisted to face him.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Am I okay?" chuckled Bruce, lifting an eyebrow. "As opposed to dead or something?"

"No, I mean, is your body okay?" Ella gently nudged his knee and tilted her head towards his shoulder. She had gotten into the habit of periodically asking him this question whenever the memories of his injuries popped into her brain. The thought of Bruce being in pain gave her a slight stomach ache.

"Yes, missy," assured Bruce, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. "I am quite okay."

"You used your cane today," pursued Ella, knowing good and well Bruce always used his cane when he was up and about for long periods.

Bruce nodded, "Yes, of course. I did a lot of walking."

"So, there is a possibility your knee hurts right now," continued Ella. A firework exploded behind her, and she spun to see the brilliant red streaks fill the sky. "Oh, cool!" she exclaimed, twisting back to face the yard and leaning forward onto her knees.

Bruce sighed, relieved the questioning was over. His knee was in tremendous pain as it always was when he spent all day on his feet. He had convinced himself that his days as Batman were over, and he would be a sort of cripple for the rest of his life. Doctors assured him the cartilage in his knee was not only worse for wear, but it was also utterly non-existent. His shoulders and elbows were supposedly close behind. With the scar tissue on his kidneys, residual concussive damage to his brain tissue, and the general scarred-over quality of his body, he and Alfred had both agreed that a little break from vigilante work was in order. Well, Alfred had decided to a bit of a break. Bruce fully intended on never donning the suit again.

"Oh, that one was pretty!" exclaimed Ella, her face illuminated by the blue light flashing overhead.

"The finale will blow your mind," chuckled Bruce, reaching forward to pull one of her French braids.

Ella settled back against her father's chair to watch the show, and he gently ran his fingers over her plaited hair and across the back of her neck. Ella reached up and settled her hand over Bruce's resting on her head. They clasped fingers and sat that way as the fireworks concluded, Ella only breaking free to stand up as the finale exploded across the sky.

"Gosh, Dad! That was amazing!" she cried, executing a few nonchalant pirouettes in her excitement. "Best fireworks show I have ever seen!"

Bruce raised an eyebrow. Pirouettes. Another tick to the many boxes of talent Ella possessed. "How many fireworks shows _have _you seen?" he asked, expecting a low number, if any.

"Oh, trillions. Well, maybe only millions," shrugged Ella, brushing the question of with a shrug. "Every night in the circus."

Bruce narrowed his eyes. Of course, he should have thought of that. Bruce reprimanded himself for forgetting his little girl had another life. An entire existence of thrill and pain and sorrow before he had come along. Her optimism and strength boggled his mind. His parents were dead, yes, but a criminal had killed them, an unknown man with an itchy trigger finger. It had shattered Bruce beyond measure, of course, but he never had to question the motive. It took until he was a teenager, but he had eventually understood that it was not a personal vendetta against his parents. It was just a wicked man doing an evil thing. Ella's parents had been murdered intentionally and methodically by a man, she should have been able to trust, and for a reason, that was pathetic and utterly ridiculous. Yet here she was, striving to be a better person and make Bruce happy in any way she could. Her resilience gave Bruce the strength to go on. He had to be a better man for his daughter's sake because she deserved the world, and he intended to give it to her.

"Will everyone go home now?" asked Ella, her voice breaking into Bruce's thoughts.

"Hm? Oh, no," chuckled Bruce. "People will wander around until four or five in the morning and then call a taxi because they'll be too drunk to drive. You and I, though, are locking ourselves in the East Wing and going to bed. No all-night parties for us."

"Good, I'm tired," sighed Ella, and Bruce could tell she was. It had been an exciting day for her, and between the mental stimulation and physical activity, she looked exhausted.

"Run up and tell Alfred we're coming," urged Bruce, reaching down to pick up his cane. He knew it was going to hurt to stand, and he didn't want Ella watching and seeing his pain.

"Okey-doke, Dad!" said Ella, breaking into a jog across the lawn to find Alfred. Her long, suntanned legs carried her quickly across the grass, and Bruce watched for a minute, evaluating the tightening of her muscles and the speed of her gate. She was athletic, that was for sure. Being trained in acrobatics at such an incredibly young age had been a launching pad to a physically minded young lady. An idea flashed through Bruce's mind so quickly that he took a deep breath, but he just as quickly let out a halting chuckle. _Train Ella to take over the mask_.

"Oh, sure," Bruce said out-loud to himself. He glanced around to make sure no one was watching the eccentric billionaire talking to himself. "Let's just train our thirteen-year-old to fight crime. Brilliant, Bruce." There. Idea squashed. Well, theoretically. It lingered in Bruce's brain, refusing to slip away no matter what he told himself. "Well," he muttered, leaning his weight forward onto his cane, "maybe when she's a little older." He groaned as he slowly stood, wincing as a fire of pain shot through his knee.

"A hand, Mr. Wayne?" came a deep, smooth voice.

"Ah, Mr. Fox," smiled Bruce, extending a hand to his business manager. "I didn't realize you were here this evening."

"Just stopped by for the show," said Lucius, nodding towards the dark sky that had moments before been ablaze with rockets. "Not bad this year."

Bruce chuckled, "The fireworks, eh? Merely a social visit?"

"You know me, Mr. Wayne," said Lucius, supporting Bruce as the billionaire took a weak step forward. "My social visits are purely business-related."

Bruce laughed and bent away from Lucius, finding his footing again after sitting for so long. "Ah, thank you, Lucius," he said, acknowledging the help to stand. "Will you join me inside?"

"I can talk as we walk," said Lucius, falling into stride beside Bruce. "No need to pry on your family time tonight. By business, I meant the man behind the mask."

Bruce cast a sideways glance at Lucius and huffed, "Ah, Lucius. He's no more. That ship has sailed."

"Training the girl?" questioned Lucius, letting Bruce know he had overheard the man's musings.

"Ha! I think not," said Bruce, squinting as the pain continued to travel through his leg. "That was…I was just thinking out loud."

"I have a knee brace," said Lucius.

Bruce stopped walking.

"Designed it myself," continued Fox, folding his arms. "A cybernetic brace with servomotors. You won't need the cane anymore."

"And how do we know it works?" asked Bruce, trying to hide just how interested he indeed was.

Lucius raised an eyebrow, "I'm not as young as I look. These knees aren't what they were twenty years ago."

"Fair enough," smiled Bruce. "Alright, Lucius, bring it by, and we'll take a look."

"Do what you will with it," said Lucius, stepping away from Bruce and starting towards the front-drive. "I left it inside."

Bruce shook his head, a genuine grin spreading across his face. Lucius Fox. The man never ceased to amaze.

"Master Wayne, are you alright?" came Alfred's voice from behind. He appeared at Bruce's side, grasping the man's left arm.

"I'm fine, Alfred," nodded Bruce. "Did El make it inside?"

"She did," nodded Alfred, keeping his grip as the two continued into the mansion. "Taking a shower and hopefully scrubbing the ridiculous tattoos off her arms."

"They are washable, Alfred," assured Bruce. "I promise I won't let her get real tattoos yet."

"Yet!" said Alfred, unlocking an outside door into Bruce's private quarters and stepping aside. "I believe 'ever' would be more like it."

Bruce groaned as he took the small step up into the house, and Alfred immediately grabbed the younger man's arms, steadying him.

"Alright, Bruce, you need a warm bath with Epsom salts," said the butler, taking small steps beside his limping master. 'Bruce' slipped out when Alfred was more concerned for the young man than he was letting on.

"Lucius Fox left something for me," said Bruce through gritted teeth.

"I put it in your bedroom," said Alfred, stopping and pressing a hidden button to their right. The wall slid aside, revealing a disguised elevator, and the two stepped on.

"Of course, you did," said Bruce. "How do you manage to serve three hundred people champagne and still be fully aware of every person going in and out of the manor?"

"Lots of tea and a high-stress tolerance," replied Alfred. "You've built up my anxiety forbearance."

"You're welcome," said Bruce, resting heavily on his cane.

The elevator door opened and revealed Ella leaning against the far wall of the hallway, nose buried in a paperback copy of _The Great Gatsby_. "Hey," she said, barely looking up.

"I thought you were showering," said Alfred, helping Bruce off the elevator.

"I was," said Ella, trailing behind her two fatherly figures as they slowly moved down the hall towards Bruce's bedroom, "but I remembered my book and got distracted."

"Well, get undistracted and shower," said Alfred. "And wash of those tattoos."

"I can't," said Ella, the book still holding her attention. "They're permanent."

"If they aren't gone when I come in to say good night, I will personally scrub them off," said Alfred, turning Bruce down a hall and casting a no-nonsense look towards Ella.

"Come say goodnight later," called Bruce as Ella stumbled off towards her room, bumping into a few ornate chairs lined against the hall as she devoured the words before her.

"Roger!" replied Ella, pushing herself around an agar bureau into which she had walked. Ella lowered her book, deciding she could survive the short walk to her room before finding out what Nick, Gatsby, and Daisy would find as they strolled through Gatsby's mansion.

After showering and scrubbing off all the tattoos except for the ornate flag across her left shoulder, Ella pulled on a t-shirt and basketball shorts and grabbed up the book again, flinging herself across the bed. Tom Buchanan had just stopped in at Gatsby's for a drink when Alfred's soft knock sounded, and he entered the room, smiling at Ella. He hadn't seen the girl during the day, and he disliked separation from her for such a long period.

"I see F. Scott Fitzgerald has thoroughly captured your attention," smiled the butler, scooping up some stray clothes from the floor.

"Simply delightful book," said Ella, sliding the ripped envelope she had been using as a bookmark into the pages.

"Delightful?" asked Alfred, tidying the things scattered on Ella's dresser. "And since when do you use the word 'delightful'?"

"I dunno," shrugged Ella, tossing her book onto the bedside table and standing up. "Can I go see Dad?"

"_May_," corrected Alfred. "Yes, go on."

Ella raced towards the door but stopped, spinning on her heel. She ran back and threw her arms around Alfred, burying her face in his shoulder. "Ah, Alfred!" she said, breathing in his scent of strong tea and fabric softener. "I love you."

Alfred wrapped his arms around the girl, a flush of warmth spreading through his chest, "And you are loved more than you can fathom, my dear."

A quick squeeze and then Ella pushed back, grinning broadly. She ran from the room, swinging the door shut a little too hard for Alfred's taste, and hurried off to say goodnight to her father.

Alfred stopped for a moment and stared after her, a million thoughts running through his head. Most of them were in regards to seeing the staff off for the night and making sure the yard clean-up occurred after the party, but the biggest one kept pressing harder and harder against his unease. Bruce's words from moments before kept replaying over and over through his mind.

"_I dunno, Alfred_," the younger man had shrugged. "_I mean…I could train her. She's strong and agile. Of course, not to be Batman himself. But some sort of sidekick. It's just an idea. Don't get worried_."

But now Alfred was very much worried. He had immediately voiced his antipathy of Bruce's idea, and the young man had assured Alfred it was just a crazy scheme and nothing on which he planned to act. But Alfred knew very well Bruce would have never brought it up if it wasn't something more than an idea. Besides that, Bruce had used the word sidekick. That meant that his days as Batman were far from over, and the healing process was not going to be as easy as Alfred had hoped.

The butler sighed. Nothing was easy when it came to Bruce Wayne. And that was why he needed Alfred to keep him on track. As for training Ella…that was a very long discussion the butler and billionaire would be having very soon whether Bruce wanted to or not.

Sidekick.

Ella could do it. Alfred knew the girl was perfectly capable of learning the tricks of the trade, and she would be even more acrobatic than Bruce himself. But she was thirteen-years-old. No child should be learning how to fight criminals from beneath a mask. No, no, no. Absolutely not! Alfred berated himself for even imagining the possibility. No, he was the apparent grown-up in this situation, and Ella Wayne would absolutely not be learning to fight alongside Batman as long as Alfred had anything to do with it.

**...**

**Oh, my goodness, everyone. Thank you so much for following and reading! This is the final chapter but there will DEFINITELY be sequels. I have a one-shot in the works right now with lots of cute stuff. Everyone has been super supportive and I appreciate all the comments and follows! You're all the best! Thank you for following along and hopefully I'll see you in the next story. Spoiler alert, Bruce is TOTALLY going to train Ella.**


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